


For the children

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst & Humor, BDSM, Backstory, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Choking, Cuddles & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dogboys & Doggirls, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, First Time, Gangbang, Genital Torture, Ghost Sex, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Kink Negotiation, Knotting, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Magic, Multiverse, POV Character of Color, Polyamory, Pseudo-Incest, Resurrection, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Sounding, Telepathy, Voyeurism, Watersports, Whipping, polyamory negotiation, teaching kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 152,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Athos looks to Porthos with narrowed eyes for a long moment, and then turns back to Aramis with a rueful smile of his own. They clasp forearms — "I'm Athos, as you have no doubt guessed."Aramis inclines his head again, and Athos releases him smoothly — though not without a burning look. He then goes to Porthos's side, and the two of them grip each other silently for long moments with their backs turned to Aramis.Aramis… should absolutely not be thinking about the number of methods he has to punish people for turning their backs on him.This is not that sort of assignment.He's increasingly unsure what sort of assignment it *is*— but it's not that kind.He waits, folding his hands together to keep them from creeping any closer to his weapons —And Porthos turns abruptly. "Why do you suddenly feel like a threat?"





	1. Definitely let's make rash and emotional decisions involving the multiverse. It's a great time for it.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts), [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts), [CanadianGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Vague and *decidedly* AU-ized references to assorted things mentioned up through S3. Takes place pre-series.
> 
> Author's Note: So, this is the Official Grief Fic for *2017*, a good, solid year late. It's been kind of a tough time, and there've been just a couple more things to grieve *for*... well, put it this way: I'm doing my best to climb out of deep, dark pit of depression, and this is *one* part of that effort. Wish me luck with the other parts, please. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: With much love and *abject* gratitude to Pixie, Melly, Spice, Houndstar, Liz, Greyandgold, and, of course, my dearest Jack, all of whom went far above and beyond the call of duty to keep me going this past year, and all of whom gave me the gift of their patience. 
> 
> I can't do it without you.

Jason knows perfectly well that he shouldn't be doing -- this. 

When the dead stay dead, when the music of the spheres is allowed to spin through its own highs and lows and dizzying, sickening crescendos -- 

When the *dead* stay *dead*, other things tend to go smoothly. 

His *life* -- egregiously extended as it may be -- tends to go smoothly. 

But...

Treville is here, staring fixedly into Jason's bowl of spirit-mage blood. 

Staring at his *sons* -- his *beloved* sons, for all that one labours under the genteel fiction of 'godson' and the other knows practically *nothing* of his past -- drinking themselves into even more of a stupor than usual, because his third son -- 

His Aramis -- 

Is dead. 

Treville is not here for himself. 

Treville would never do this, never *ask* this of Jason, for *himself*. This is just one of the countless reasons why Jason is in love with him. 

But...

For his sons...

And Jason has to admit that that's another reason why he loves the man. 

So. 

Jason is here, in front of his moderately-enchanted mirror -- it truly *doesn't* take much -- looking for blood that matches that on this hopelessly-stained scrap of leather. 

Looking for kin. 

Looking for Aramis. 

*An* Aramis. 

When Treville had told him, some time ago, that the man's given name was Julián Ortiz, he'd idly searched on *that* name -- and found far too many thoroughly-broken and *problematically* mad *priests* who *occasionally* thought of themselves that way. 

Considering the fate of the children in their care... 

Well, Jason had had to summarily murder two of them. 

He'd chosen not to share the results of those excursions -- or that he'd ever taken them. 

If the tides of the spheres are kind, he will find a suitable Aramis *before* Treville *asks* him to start looking for Juliáns. 

The first Aramis he finds is perfect -- perfect in every way, really. Unfortunately. 

Treville grunts. "Who's the other boy, do you think?" 

So he *is* paying attention to all the moaning and grunting and -- 

"He doesn't... well, Aramis just pulled his brassard off with his teeth, and Porthos and Athos have the rest of the boy well in hand, but I don't recognize him in the slightest." 

"In other worlds, he goes by d'Artagnan. Watch for him." 

"Of course I will --" 

"No, I..." Jason licks his lips and clears the mirror. "I haven't had any *true* premonitions, and none of my others have said anything about him, but --" 

"I'll watch for him, lover," Treville says, using the soothing voice that, with him, always *means* something. 

Jason takes a breath -- and keeps looking. 

The next Aramis can't *possibly* be older than nine years old, and is teaching himself Latin in the middle of a brothel. 

Treville stares. 

Jason helps. 

The Aramis in the mirror blows a grand and elegant kiss to his mother as she ascends the stairs with what can only be a client. 

"Well, that *confirms* the answers to a few questions." 

"You know that isn't --" 

"It answers questions." 

"Hm." Treville has, in the past, joined him for trips through the spheres to alleviate the suffering of Aramises not quite so young as this one -- 

They both *knew*, because of their own meddling and *nosiness* -- and because of the Church being itself -- that Aramis *had* suffered within its grasp -- 

They had found young men to rescue. 

*Some* of them had had mothers they could be returned to -- beautiful, gainfully-employed-in-brothels mothers. 

And, well -- "As you say." It would be a *kind* of reasonable for *their* Aramis -- for the Aramis they'd *lost* -- to have been... equally well-educated in the ways of the world. 

"Are you being *delicate*, lover?" 

"I thought you might appreciate a change...?" 

"No." 

Jason hums and moves on. 

The next Aramis is dressed like a courtier, armed to the teeth not *far* under his fine clothes, and *knows* he's being watched. 

They'd caught him moving quickly and subtly away from the *bodies* of two other courtiers -- dead by stiletto, by the looks of them -- and now he's moving even faster, *hunting* for the eyes on him both magically and not. 

"What --" 

"Spirit-mage," Jason says, and licks his lips. "I've seen it --" He cuts himself off. 

"Where." 

"It's not important." 

"Jason."

"I -- we have to reassure this Aramis --" 

"Then tell me quickly." 

Jason winces. "The Juliáns. The... they were all broken as adults. Priests. All... I had to kill two of them." 

Treville growls -- stops. "That. Is ultimately unsurprising." 

"Treville. Don't swallow your emotions." 

"I'll have them later. Reassure that assassin before he does something untoward." 

"Something Aramis-like, you mean?"

Treville coughs a *painful* laugh -- 

And Jason... does what he probably should *not* do with *this* Aramis. 

He takes his gaze *away* from him and searches for the others. 

For Treville -- no. 

For Porthos -- no. 

For Athos -- no.

For *Olivier* -- no. 

For *d'Artagnan* -- not enough information available. He'll have to do something about that. 

But first.

"Arm yourself, amant." 

Treville stiffens and inhales and looks *up* -- he'd gone back to watching Athos and Porthos together while Jason searched. "He's the one, isn't he. He's -- he's actually *right*." 

"I wouldn't say that -- yet. But -- your others aren't there."

"Fuck -- *fuck*," Treville says, taking another breath and pulling on his years of authority and presence and *power*. 

Jason sighs a *trifle* theatrically. "I'm all *aflutter*." 

Treville snorts and buckles on his belts. "What you are is an *arse*. Find our boy again. We're going to make him an *excellent* proposition." 

"You're assuming he isn't making a truly wonderful living ridding the world of... well, let's assume those people were *meanies* --" 

"Money isn't *everything*, Jason," Treville says, and his voice is hearty, and full of cheer -- but there are three tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Jason licks them away and checks Aramis's location. 

An obvious bolthole -- sealed magically as well as prosaically. 

Sealed *well*, as these things go. He's had allies. 

Just not any as good as *Jason*. 

Still, he *thinks* he's safe now. 

He's sitting at a small, neat desk working on his *correspondence*, and he only has a *few* weapons to hand. 

Jason nods and opens a portal.


	2. The doorbell *always* rings as *soon* as you sit down and relax.

The knock on Aramis's door is a nasty shock. 

It...

There were exactly two people who were capable of *perceiving* that door when Aramis has all the blocks in place, and both of those people are *dead* now. One of them from natural causes, one of them because he had *betrayed* Aramis. 

This... 

This is not...

Aramis had made *certain* of both deaths -- 

And he gains nothing by sitting here. 

He gathers his power and throws illusions of himself up all over the small sitting room, giving them each small, nervous tics. 

And then he unlocks the door. 

The two men outside of it are powerful mages, of course -- one earth with some blood abilities, the other fire and blood and -- shadow?

Truly? 

The other -- a compact man with long, dark-red hair wearing wool and *chain* mail of all things -- is looking directly at the real Aramis.

And now so is the earth-mage -- an older man wearing the clothes of a *Musketeer*. 

This cannot be so. Aramis *knows* the Musketeers -- and that's not the important thing. 

Both of them are wearing *cursed* weapons. 

The apparently younger and more powerful mage is *covered* in cursed arms and armor. The earth-mage's rapier is screaming. 

These are dangerous men, over and above -- 

And they are raising their eyebrows at him. 

They are showing their *hands*, their open *hands* -- 

Aramis drops the illusions. 

The younger mage inclines his head. 

The older one smiles *paternally*. "Thank you for that, Aramis. I've never cared to be surrounded -- even by illusions. May we come in?" 

Aramis narrows his eyes. "Who are you?" He will know if they lie. 

The younger mage lifts his head. His eyes are... rueful. "Jason Blood -- though not the one from this sphere. Have you met him?"

Aramis opens his mouth -- closes it. That was honest.

That was -- 

He has *heard* of Jason Blood, heard of him walking the spheres -- 

He is not young, at *all* -- 

He -- 

"I think he's heard of you, lover." The earth-mage sounds *amused* -- 

"Hm. I'm flattered on my other's behalf. What can I do to prove myself?"

Aramis *calculates* -- "Where *is* the Jason Blood who belongs on this sphere?" 

The smile on the mage's face -- is he truly a Jason Blood? Could he be? -- is wry and -- 

Old. 

*Ancient*. 

He gestures, and a *portal* opens in the middle of the room -- 

*Blazing* heat escapes it, but there is no flame visible -- only a vast, blue-lit cavern, and, in the center of it, a man who looks precisely like the mage who *may* be Jason Blood, right down to the way he's dressed, having a vehement conversation with -- 

With...

"What the *hell* is that, Jason?" The earth-mage sounds as confused and disgusted -- 

"Well. You're on the right *path*," the other mage says. "That would be the larval form of a Yrek demon. Very highly-ranked, judging by the grey tinge to the slime it's leaving everywhere. Probably smells a bit like baked mushrooms --" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"How do I know this isn't --" Aramis can tell it's no illusion, but -- "How do I know this isn't *you*, from some prior rendezvous?" 

"This is happening right now," the other mage says openly, clearly, *firmly* -- 

He has put no shields on his speech. 

He is *offering* himself for Aramis to *study* -- 

They are both still standing in the *doorway* -- 

Aramis snarls and turns to the earth-mage. "Who are you?" 

The earth-mage bows and *flourishes* like a Musketeer. "Captain Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Tréville of the King's Musketeers, at your service." 

"Treville -- Treville had no sons that lived to adulthood," Aramis says, before he can stop himself. 

The earth-mage winces with pain. "I'm from the same sphere Jason's from." 

"You --" Aramis growls. 

The heat from the portal is making him sweat under his clothes -- 

This bolthole is *useless* now, and --

And --

Aramis growls again. "Come in. Both of you. Stay where I can see you."

"As you say," the other -- *Blood* says, because it *is* him, because --

"Of course," *Treville* says, and they walk in -- 

Treville closes the door behind himself -- 

Blood closes the portal -- 

They stay close together, not trying to flank Aramis, and they keep their hands in sight. Their power is not completely dimmed, but it is quiescent. They are... behaving. 

They are doing everything they can to keep him calm. 

They do not know the Aramis from their own sphere well enough, if they do not realize this will drive him up a *wall* sooner rather than *later* -- no. 

No. 

Aramis crosses his arms over his chest, responding to their low threat profile in kind. "Why are you here." 

"To make you an offer," Blood says. 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "There are other ways to contact me if you wish to hire an assassin." 

Treville gives him another *paternal* smile for some reason. "That's not the kind of offer we wish to make, Aramis --" 

"Then what?" 

Blood cocks his head to the side. "Do you like your life?" 

"What sort of question is that?" 

"The one I have for you at the moment," Blood says, and his tone is smooth and cool. 

Aramis -- does not narrow his eyes again. "I do not exchange pleasantries with strange mages who invade my homes." 

"This is home, son...?" 

Aramis *jerks* -- and Treville is looking around -- at the bare walls, the bare floors, the lack of furnishings -- with his eyebrows up.

"I was assuming this was just one of the places you ran to when you felt unsafe. We know you could feel us watching you earlier." 

Aramis snarls -- "You nearly caused me to make a *scene* as I was leaving my assignment --" 

"We apologize for that," Blood says, still smoothly, still coolly. "We understand that professionalism is important to you." 

That... "*How* do you understand this?" 

Treville raises one eyebrow. "It's what you have, isn't it?"

Aramis will not growl again. "Speak plain." 

"I rather thought we were," Blood says. "But since you insist... on our sphere you had brothers. Lovers. Family. Friends."

Aramis says nothing. He -- but what do they know about his life? How *long* have they been watching? How much have they been able to *discern*?

"What do you have here, son?" Treville asks. "Other than your professionalism and whatever wealth and reputation you've built with it."

"You are contemptuous of such things? Is the name Treville ranked so high on your sphere?" He hadn't meant to *speak* -- 

And Treville smiles wryly. "Not at all, son --" 

"I am *not* your son!" 

Treville inhales sharply -- and nods. "I'll watch my mouth, then. As I was saying... I'm fourth-rate nobility at best, though I make up for it a *bit* by being the Captain. And I've learned, over the years, that what actually matters --" 

"Is *love*?"

Treville never looks away from Aramis's eyes. "The Aramis who lived on our sphere was my son. He made me proud each and every day solely by existing, and lightened the cares and stresses of my existence. He filled the lives of everyone around him with laughter and love -- when the people around him were *worth* it --" 

Aramis shuts his mouth.

Treville barks a short laugh. "Yes, he rather liked to perforate the people who weren't worth it. Especially if they had something unflattering to say about his brothers." 

"Is this what got him killed?" Aramis deliberately does *not* soften his tone -- 

Blood looks to Treville -- 

And Treville begins to weep. There are no great, wracking sobs; no keens; no *dramatics* -- but. 

The tears flow freely. 

He does nothing to stop them. 

He -- 

He is still smiling wryly. "No, Aramis. He died protecting children." 

Aramis does not, *will* not, flinch. 

He knows they see it anyway -- 

He -- "Did a child slit his *throat*?" 

"The men searching for the Duc's son among all the other children did." 

He doesn't -- 

He won't -- 

Aramis growls. "What happened to the children." He paces -- 

"Porthos and Athos -- Aramis's brothers -- were able to save them. There were some injuries, though. Very few of the kidnappers survived interrogation... and them only with Jason's help." 

Aramis paces. 

And paces -- 

And -- "When did this happen."

"Two days ago." 

"And you have left your other sons --" 

"In each other's arms, finding what comfort they can. They will keep each other from doing anything... reckless."

Aramis bares his teeth -- and turns to Blood. "They say you are old. They say your age has bought you *wisdom*." 

"Perhaps some little." 

"The two of you have not *said* what you are here for -- not plainly. Is it because you know it is a foolish idea?" 

Blood's smile is wry, as well. 

And older than anything that should be on that face. 

"Aramis... one of the things I have learned in my six hundred or so years -- one of the pieces of wisdom I have *earned* -- is this: One does not get in the way of need." 

Aramis recoils -- 

"I imagine you've learned that lesson yourself, in one or *two* ways...?" 

"I am not *needed* on some backwater sphere where you cannot keep your Aramises *alive*." 

"Yes," Blood says. "You are." He says it simply. *Quietly*. 

He says it while looking into Aramis's eyes with his reddish-brown ones, and he is --

He is...

A powerful mage. 

A *knowledgeable* mage. 

Treville laughs through his tears. "I know that look." 

Blood smiles. "Is it time to negotiate, Aramis...? What can we offer?"

The first rule is to keep things... open-ended. "Information. *Knowledge*." 

Blood's smile turns rapacious. "Magical...?" 

"Whatever I ask, when I ask it. If you have access to the information I desire, you will give it to me." 

Treville gives him that *paternal* look again. "Done. What else?" 

"Safe passage. *Whenever* I desire it, *wherever* I desire it." 

"Done," Blood says, and raises two fingers. "With a caveat." 

Aramis purses his lips. 

"I will *not* be safely taking you anywhere you could be summarily murdered, Aramis." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. "*You* do not know all the ways I know how to protect myself." 

"No," Blood says agreeably. "But I will, soon enough." And his eyes flare red. 

Aramis -- inhales. "Very well. I accept your caveat." 

Blood inclines his head. "Next?" 

It's better to keep things open-*ended*, but this... 

Perhaps this should have a definitive *end*. 

"A time limit." 

"Aramis," Treville starts -- 

"A time *limit*," Aramis says more forcefully. "I will come to your sphere. I will meet who you wish me to meet. I will even be *agreeable* to whatever conversational gambits they wish to make. And then? After two weeks? I will come home." 

Treville doesn't look at the bare room again. He does not have to. 

Blood... raises an eyebrow. "You may wish more... information than that." 

Aramis meets his bloody gaze steadily. "I am a *quick* student, M'sieu Blood. Now. Teach me how to walk the spheres." 

"Well, that I *can't* do -- you haven't the power for it -- but I *will* show you how *I* do it. Watch the shadows closely." 

Aramis mentally checks the placement of all of his weapons and lists what he will need to pack for two weeks on another sphere -- and prepares to do just that.


	3. Did you catch the part where everyone took the time to think this through? No? Oh, well.

Jason, unsurprisingly, does *not* bring them back to his own home. 

The fact that he brings them to *Treville's* rooms in Paris -- 

Well, Treville should've expected it. 

He should've -- 

He should've expected it, and prepared himself for it, for the sight of Aramis -- *an* Aramis -- walking through his study with all the grace he's ever had, all the acquisitiveness, all the *confidence* Treville could ever *desire* -- 

But *his* Aramis wouldn't have been this confident -- not at first. 

Not even to pretend. 

*His* Aramis... would've been in his Captain's home, and while his Aramis had taken the word 'son' from him when Treville had given it... 

Treville can't fool himself that his Aramis had known everything Treville had meant behind it. 

*This* Aramis already knows more than his Aramis had -- 

This...

Ah, fuck. 

"Amant."

"Give me... just a moment," Treville says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Aramis's body had already been cooling by the time he'd gotten to the Duc's manor. 

Athos had taken over the scene just the way he should have done. 

Porthos had been with the body, crouched and silent and bleak. 

There'd been no tomorrows in his eyes. Just one *stop* after another. Just -- 

Treville had seen it, of course. *Known* it, down deep, from when he'd lost his own loves. 

Those half-panicked moments right after, when you're not weeping, so you *think* you're calm, but all you're doing is running through all the things you won't be doing anymore. 

All the things you *can't* do anymore, because this love is gone, and now that love, and now -- 

"Amant..." 

Treville drops his hand. 

His fingers are wet, and both Jason and the other Aramis are staring at him. 

Jason is looking at him as if he would roll back time itself for Treville if he could. 

Aramis is looking at him with pure, open speculation. 

That's easier. 

That's -- 

"He looked at me just that way the day we met," Treville says, and gestures to the chairs and couches. 

"Were you weeping the day you met?" 

"As a matter of fact? I was. Will you sit?" 

Aramis strokes the spine of a volume of poetry -- 

"You're welcome to borrow it --" 

"Thank you," Aramis says, and sits on the one armless couch without taking the book. He'll have easy access to all of his weapons. 

Treville takes the rather throne-like chair by the fireplace -- it was once his father's, and it's now the closest thing he has to the man's hugs -- and Jason leans against the back of it, supporting him even more. "The Musketeers have a graveyard at the garrison for the men who don't particularly want to give their bodies to the Church, for whatever reason. On the day our Aramis was to have his initial interview, I was presiding over the funeral of one of the older men. Hermine had been with the regiment nearly from its inception, and we had known each other when we were practically boys. We'd grown into old men together, living our lives for the regiment, and I was grieving."

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "You are very free with your emotions, for one who has risen so high." 

And that... Treville cocks his head to the side. "Can you see everything that I am, Aramis?"

That makes the man narrow his eyes just a little -- and look to Jason. 

"I am very, very interested in the answer to this question," Jason says. 

"Very well," Aramis says, and uses his power -- deftly, gently, and subtly -- to study Treville. 

Treville lets it happen -- and smiles when Aramis blinks. 

"It's *not* immediately obvious, is it," Jason says. 

"I... no. Especially since..." He focuses on Treville. "You were not born a shifter." 

"I was not. I was made this way, along with my mate, about a generation ago. And that's a tale I can't tell you." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. "And if I demand this information as part of my price?" 

That -- 

Jason laughs hard. "*Well*, amant?" 

Treville scrubs a hand down over his face and licks his lips. "I..." 

Aramis looks back and forth between them. "Your lover does not wish you to keep this secret. Why is this?" 

"Because he feels it shouldn't be a secret -- from Porthos, who really needs to hear the tale first." 

"I believe I made my price clear," Aramis says, and raises an elegant eyebrow. 

Jason laughs richly. "I could have Porthos *and* Athos here in a moment. We both know Porthos wouldn't want Athos not to know." 

"I --" 

"And if I do not wish to wait a moment?" 

"Aramis," Jason says, with a tease in his voice. "Are you not *ready* to meet your putative brothers...?" 

Aramis makes an *affronted* noise -- 

Treville coughs a laugh and gestures for peace. "*Let* me tell Porthos. I promise I'll also tell you. It's good magical theory to learn." 

He can *feel* Jason shooting him a look -- he didn't expect Treville to give in. 

Well, even old dogs can learn. 

Usually the hard way. 

Aramis studies him for long moments -- and then nods. "Tell me more about the other Aramis. What made him decide to trust you?" 

"Time and care. I showed him I was worthwhile. I *don't* think anything else would have done it." 

"No?" 

"He may not have been an assassin, Aramis, but he *was* you," Treville says, and smiles wryly. "He told me, as a point of honour between us, some of the things that went into his choice to reject everything about the name Julián Ortiz and the life that man would have had. Every last one of those things would have turned nearly anyone into the *sort* of man who... needed a bit more from the people in his life than just their promises of good behaviour." 

Aramis looks at him. *Hotly*. 

Treville smiles wryly. "Did you think I meant that as an insult? Part of being 'free with one's emotions' is being a damned suspicious sonofabitch at times." 

"*All* the time," Jason says. 

"*Some* of the time. When the dog in me isn't satisfied with the lay of the land." 

"As I *said*," Jason says, with some measure of asperity. 

Treville laughs, helplessly, a part of him only relieved, only glad, only *thrilled* to be able to play this way in front of his -- 

But. 

But this isn't -- 

It never *will* be -- 

They'd buried Aramis on the grateful Duc's lands -- Theodore owed him *favours*, and Aramis had told him years ago that he didn't want his body on Church soil. 

It had been too far to bring him back to Paris. 

It...

"You know, Treville," Aramis says, and crosses his legs exactly like he isn't armed under those trousers. "You must tell me what kind of courtier you make, when your every emotion is --" 

Treville smiles with bland benignity, conjuring the tears away -- 

Glamouring away the reddened eyes, the shadows *under* his eyes -- 

He crosses *his* legs, and folds his hands on his knee. "Now, son, why don't you tell me everything about what's been going on between you and the marquise. I'm sure it will all turn out to be a misunderstanding once we've talked it all out a little more." 

Aramis recoils again, this time looking *horrified*. 

Treville coughs a painful laugh and banishes the conjurings. "Yes, that's rather the wrong sort of 'fatherly' for my tastes, as well." 

Jason sighs. "I *hate* when he does that," he says, and goes to the cabinet for the brandy. "Drink?" 

"I -- yes," Aramis says, and turns back to Treville. "Is *that* what you do?" 

"There are variations, of course. But everyone knows what Louis requires of his gruff, militaristic, dangerously liberal, second-generation noble of a councilor, and that sets a *tone*. Straying too far away from that tone would be --"

"Dangerous, yes, of course, I see. You are a father-figure to the *King*." 

Treville spreads his hands. "I'd get farther in skirts -- but that's why I've made an ally of the Queen." 

"You are no milquetoast father-figure to *her*." 

Treville grins. "Is she strong on your sphere? Smart? Bold?" 

"All of those things! Louis is --" Aramis spits in the cold fireplace. "I will admit to choosing assignments to benefit the Queen, from time to time." 

Treville rumbles. "I do the same... entirely unofficially." 

"And unbeknownst to his sons," Jason says, and hands Treville and Aramis glasses. 

Aramis blinks. "Thank you, M'sieu Blood." 

"You're quite welcome --" 

"They do not know of your political leanings?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I've tried to protect them from as much of the political *shite* as I could, Aramis. Which wasn't much, but was *some*." 

"What he's *protecting* them from is the fact that he's more than just their loving, noble, honourable, *benign* Captain," Jason says, and *looks* at him over the rim of his own glass. 

"They do not know you are a mage?" 

"Athos grew up with it -- with *me* -- but I've protected them both from what my life looks like *now*."

"They do not know..." Aramis blinks and frowns, uncrossing his legs and downing half of his brandy in one swallow. 

Jason moves to refill it -- 

"Thank you again, but no." 

"Of course," Jason says. 

Aramis frowns *at* Treville. "You are doing this because you never told *your* Aramis how you felt about him." 

The stab is direct, and he's bleeding for it, but... "Not ultimately." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

"I'm doing it because Athos and Porthos lost a brother, and I remember all too clearly what it's like for that to happen to you. *This* time, I can do something about it."

"Treville." Aramis cocks his head to the side again. "Are you buying a whore for your sons' first times...?"

Jason splutters -- 

Treville coughs -- but. "You know a bit about that. Don't you." 

Aramis's expression shutters. 

"He didn't tell me. I'm *reasonably* certain he told his brothers." 

"Stop --" 

"But you can guess at some of the things we've seen on other spheres. Did you think we'd judge?" 

Aramis looks at them. 

And looks -- 

And *looks* -- "Yes." 

Treville smiles and shakes his head. "Some of my favourite people in this world have been whores. Some of my least favourite have been churchmen. Porthos prefers the phrase 'ladies and gentlemen -- and everyone in between -- of custom'. Both our Aramis and Porthos occasionally took up with patronesses to make up the shortfalls in their pay. My brother Reynard did the same -- though 'occasionally' was more like 'all the time' in his case." 

Aramis is breathing quickly, but -- "He had... expensive tastes?" 

"No -- except when it came to his weapons. He had bastards, and he took care of them with the money he gleaned from the assorted fine ladies of his acquaintance." 

Aramis is silent for long moments. 

Treville waits him out, and drinks. 

Jason lights the fire -- 

"Oh -- how --" 

"Something else you cannot do, I'm afraid. But I believe you already knew that...?" 

Aramis grits his *teeth* -- stops that. And turns back to Treville. "What of Athos? How does *he* feel about whores?"

"He has the same respect we all do for people in a difficult, dangerous profession. But..." Treville shakes his head. "He lost his only blood-brother two years ago. He hasn't recovered. Tonight's the first time he's made love to *anyone* since then." 

"You are so certain?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "Porthos asked me for advice about how he might *convince* Athos to make love with someone. Anyone. Anyone, at all." 

"Not himself?" 

"It confused the *hell* out of me that both our Aramis and Athos had refused Porthos -- and I told him so. It made him blush like a boy. He'd somehow thought I wouldn't *know* he wanted them. *Loved* them, as they loved him --" 

"But they did *not* love him this way." 

"Yes, they did," Treville says, and flares his nostrils. "A dog knows these things." 

Aramis colours in the firelight. 

Treville pretends he doesn't see it. "In any event, by the time he was asking me for advice, he had surrendered his hopes for them. I dreamed of... helping. Somehow. I couldn't think of how. Not soon enough." He swallows. 

He stares -- into the fire. 

He thinks of the coins on Aramis's eyes --

He thinks of the way Athos had looked at everything *but* the body when he'd come back into the room, fists clenched and mind obviously desperate to be at the bottom of a bottle. 

Oblivion. 

There are never any tomorrows there. 

There's a safety in that. 

Jason fills Treville's glass. "I believe," he announces, "that it's time for Aramis's first *lessons*." 

Treville shudders -- 

And drinks -- 

And nods.


	4. There is not one person in this story who isn't a mess, Aramis. Including you.

There is value in humility. 

Aramis will remind himself of this as many times as it *takes* to unruffle his *feathers* -- 

He is pacing the rooms he has been given. 

He has not even *begun* to disarm himself, or change into the sleep-clothes he had brought with him. 

He -- 

He had expected to be overpowered by Blood. 

He had expected to be *humiliated* by Blood -- repeatedly, even!

He had *not* expected this from Treville, who is only earth with some little blood *taint* to him. 

("Show me again, please, how you would go about discerning Treville's nature."

"Why?" 

"There is a lesson here you must learn for your safety, Aramis.") 

And so Aramis had used his power to *take* the information from Treville, gently and quietly and quickly -- 

He had tried. 

The next thing he'd known, he'd been on his *back* in a dark, hot spirit-space being loomed over by a *giant* dog with gleaming blue eyes -- 

Treville's eyes, only... different. 

It had been impossible to read their intent. 

And Blood had walked into the space in his wool -- and *without* his cursed mail and sword -- and cupped the back of the dog's neck.

("Treville stopped the dog from doing this the first time."

"I... what? Isn't *he* the dog?" 

"He would've been, had he been born a shifter,") Blood had said, and crouched next to the dog.

("But -- they are two different people?"

"Just so. And both of them are very, very dangerous.") 

Aramis had looked to the dog again -- 

Tried and *failed* to discern an expression other than *caution*, other than *wariness* -- 

He'd inclined his head. 

The dog had not shifted position or expression by one *iota*. 

("You're saying the dog is a mage -- in his own right." 

"They are on every sphere where they exist in tandem with Treville." 

"Is this -- no. It does not matter if it is common or not. It is a potential danger, and I must know it. *How* was I caught?") 

At this, the dog had swung his great head to Blood. 

("Oh, yes, hound, I know. You'd rather we not share our secrets with *this* one, but... we made a bargain.") 

The dog had made an *affronted* noise. 

("Well, *Treville* and I made the bargain, at least --") 

The dog had shaken off Blood's hand and moved in on Aramis, sniffing him thoroughly and -- it must be said -- threateningly. 

Aramis had fought every instinct he had *to* fight -- 

Aramis had held *still* -- 

Bared his *throat* -- 

The dog had paused, then. 

*Notably* paused. 

And had *nipped* Aramis's throat before shifting into Treville. 

Aramis had grunted. 

("My apologies, Aramis,") Treville had said, from *over* him -- and then he had stood, and helped Aramis to his feet. 

Aramis had raised an *eyebrow* -- 

Treville had smiled ruefully *and* wryly -- and brought them back to the physical plane. To his study, with its many volumes of poetry and its chairs for every sort of taste and its roaring fire. 

Aramis had kept his eyebrow *high* -- 

("That was very good, by the way,") Treville had said, releasing Aramis's hand and taking more brandy from Jason. 

("Showing you my belly?"

"The dog wouldn't have taken any other sort of response at that point. Not from a mage who smelled like pack but who *wasn't* pack." 

"How will you teach me if -- if your dog wishes to treat me as a *chew*-toy?"

"Well",) Jason had said, and given Aramis another brandy of his own. ("In truth, he always *did*.") 

Treville had pinched the bridge of his nose. ("Thank you *very* much for that, Jason.") 

And that... 

That is the other thing. 

It's not that he's *truly* surprised that Treville's feelings for his Aramis are more complicated than he'd first made it seem -- fathers are *men*, long before they are any other thing -- but...

Well. 

It is a complicated thing. 

More complicated than anything Aramis has allowed himself to *deal* with in... a very long time. 

He has taken an assignment based nearly entirely on *emotions*, on -- 

On the *feelings* of overwrought and *passionate* men. 

He does not yet know this Porthos and Athos, but the fact that they had fallen into bed with each other -- for apparently the very first time -- in response to their Aramis's death... 

Well. 

This is going to be a *fraught* assignment. 

This is going to be *messy*. 

Aramis, as a general rule, does not allow himself to *wade* through messes. 

But this time... 

And what has he gotten for it, so far? 

A bite-mark from a magical dog, the knowledge that he's been risking his life and *freedom* for the past fifteen years with the way he mines others for information -- 

Well, all right, Blood and Treville had taught him a better way. 

A *safer* way. 

*Not*, as they said, a *truly* safe way, because there isn't one. 

("There will always be *someone* faster, stronger, or simply better-prepared, Aramis,") Blood had said, and then gestured to Treville, who had been staring into the fire. 

Brooding. 

("What you *haven't* guessed about Treville -- or mined out of him -- is that he was made into a hunting hound to be used *specifically* against mages." 

"I. How does one do this?" 

"Ill-advisedly. To be the sort of effective mon amant is, your soul must first be bound --" 

"Stop. I...") Aramis had shaken his head. 

And Blood had smiled with pride and relief. ("Glad to hear it. There are *safer* ways to do it, but the word is relative -- I'd be belling you for the hunters *like* Treville, who *already* have their noses open for you." 

"No, thank you." 

"No -- thank *you*,") Blood had said, and... 

Aramis had cocked his head to the side. ("You cared for him, as well. On *many* levels."

"He was neither my son, nor my brother. We had never been *introduced*. But... yes. I loved him. He was a beautiful man.") 

Beyond him, Treville had shuddered, shoulders curling in.

Blood had closed his dry eyes for a long moment. When he'd opened them, they'd been nearly blank. ("Perhaps we can take our conversation to the library...?") 

Aramis had excused himself, instead, pleading a tiredness he absolutely did not feel. 

He -- 

He has, of course, learned to rest when he could -- 

To *take* rest, especially when comfortably ensconced in the lap of luxury...

He has homes which are not so *different* from this -- 

Emptier -- no. 

Aramis wants... more information about the dead Aramis. Right now. 

He wants -- 

He never sets out with so *little* information! He never -- but. But this is not that *sort* of assignment. 

None of these men is a target. 

Not -- 

Not that way. 

The fact that he *badly* wants to know why the dead Aramis became a Musketeer -- 

*How* he'd become a Musketeer -- 

How he'd *avoided* becoming -- 

These things are irrelevant. 

These things -- 

Don't they always say not to ask the magic men too many questions, lest you be pulled helplessly down and down into their worlds? 

Aramis laughs at himself. 

It's a hollow sound, and he stops immediately. 

He -- 

He undresses himself, and washes, and changes into his sleep-clothes, and puts himself to bed, not closing his eyes until he has his hand curled around the hilt of his favourite dagger, under the pillow. 

He waits for sleep.


	5. There is pretty much nothing that can make this morning better than painful.

Porthos wakes up and... doesn't know anything. Doesn't know -- 

Of course he's bloody hungover, he knows *that*. 

And he knows that it's *Athos* in his bed, which means they must've *really* been drinking like mad, because Athos *always* wants to go back to his own -- 

His own -- 

And then it all comes rushing back. 

The way it had already been over when they'd gotten to little Romain's playroom, Aramis sprawled in a massive, spreading pool of his own blood -- 

Aramis pale -- 

Aramis's left hand twitching and nothing else on him moving, nothing bloody *else* -- 

It was still by the time they'd had all the kidnappers down. 

It was.

He was. 

And Porthos hears himself make -- a noise. 

He can't see because his eyes are clouded with tears, and Athos is awake and *over* him, and he's clutching at the damned *sheets* -- 

Athos is gripping his *shoulders* -- "Oh. Oh..." 

Athos's hands flex on his shoulders. 

Athos *shudders* -- 

And this time, the noise that comes out of Porthos is a laugh. A horrible one. He wipes the tears away, knowing it's useless. "You just remembered, too." 

"Yes. I. Everything." 

And that, of course, is -- the other thing. 

Because there'd been drinking last night, and there'd been crying, and there'd been *not*-crying, and finally Porthos had felt scoured-out and empty and full of every silence in the bloody world. 

Athos had called his name. 

More than once. 

Porthos hadn't been able to *say* anything, anything at *all* -- 

And then Athos had come to him, over by the window, and -- 

"I kissed you..." Only, the way Athos sounds right now... 

"Mate, you don't have to sound like you're confessing to *shooting* me." 

"I." Athos swallows and stares at him, wide-eyed and bleak -- and more than a little terrified. 

His hair is mussed. His *beard* is mussed. 

And they really are both just as naked as the day they were born. 

They. 

"I should. I shouldn't be -- I'll. I'll go to my rooms," Athos says, and starts to move off of Porthos, starts to -- 

Shit, Porthos can't -- 

But the words aren't there. 

The -- 

He can't bloody think of anything to *say* other than -- "*Athos*," and that doesn't bloody *work*, so -- 

So he winds up *grabbing* Athos and *throwing* him back down to the bed next to him -- 

"I'm *sorry*," he says, feeling like the worst kind of arsehole -- "We -- we have to talk." 

Athos looks up at him like he's mad. 

Porthos licks his lips. "You used to look at me like that all the time, you know." 

"I never actually stopped. I just grew more polite." 

Porthos coughs a laugh -- 

Waits for Aramis to make a comment about how far Athos has to go before he can even be allowed to *use* the word polite -- 

And remembers. 

And they're staring at each other. 

"I apologize," Athos says, formal and correct and -- all wrong. 

Porthos shakes his head. "Athos. Brother. *Why* are you apologizing. *What* are you apologizing for?" 

"Everything. Every -- I shouldn't have kissed you. You obviously wanted to be left alone last night --" 

"What --" Gave you that idea. But... he hadn't been talking. 

He hadn't even been *looking* at Athos. 

He -- he shakes his head again. "Brother, alone is the last thing I wanted last night." 

Athos searches him, looking for the lie, the polite fiction, the social *lubricant* -- 

Porthos gives him *himself*, the way he'd learned to do quickly, once they'd started training together. 

Even before they'd become friends. 

"Porthos..." And Athos frowns. "I... what we did last night..." 

Porthos doesn't caress his face, or smooth his beard back into place. He *wants* to *badly*, but -- 

It's not even remotely the time for it. 

He knows that much. "You have to know it's normal, yeah? Two people, grieving and drunk, hurting and lonely for someone... someone they'll never have again," Porthos says, and swallows, because this isn't like the little lessons and talks he's given Athos over the years. 

This isn't -- 

Aramis won't be there to back him up. 

Aramis won't ever -- no. Not right now. 

"I needed you, Athos. And... I'm *reasonably* sure you needed me." 

Athos frowns again. "But did we need... I apologize, I don't mean to be needlessly dim --" 

"Athos. I know you haven't wanted to make love to anyone. You don't have to worry about me trying to... push you," Porthos says, and smiles gently. 

Athos frowns *direfully*. "I don't trust that smile." 

Porthos *stares* -- stops that. "Right, I'll be honest. I'm *glad* we made love. I *love* you. I'm *in* love with you. I've *been* in love with you since not long after you started training me up --" 

"I -- *truly*?" 

"Athos, *yes*. And I needed you. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't stayed last night. If you hadn't *touched* me." 

Athos *stares* at him *incredulously*, and it's just. 

Porthos rolls over onto his own back and laughs. *Hard*. 

He's weeping while he does it, but -- 

No, just get it out, get it all *out*. 

It's better that way. 

It's never any *good* to hold this kind of thing *back*. 

It's never any good to hold anything *real* back. 

Never -- 

"I... hm." 

Porthos laughs a little more, but rolls over enough to grab the salt-stiffened handkerchief out of his trouser pocket. It'll do, for now. 

"It's only..." 

"Mm?" 

"It never *occurred* to me that you were -- that you could be..." 

"In love with you?"

"*Yes*." 

"Don't *worry* about it, Athos. You're my brother, and I love you, and I'm never going to hurt you," Porthos says, and blows his nose. "In -- in *any* way." 

"I *know* that!" 

"Yeah?" 

"Of course I -- it's only -- my only concern was that you'd think me an opportunist --" 

"A *what* now?" 

"You have to admit my timing --" 

"*Brother* --" 

And Athos rolls on top of him again, *pins* him again. "I've loved you from practically the first *moment*, brother. I didn't know *how* to touch you. I didn't know how to -- to reach *past* my *wife*." 

Porthos doesn't flinch from long practice -- but he knows Athos sees it anyway. 

He nods. "You understand." 

"I do. I do. Oh, brother..." Porthos licks his lips and tastes salt. Reaches for Athos's hips and holds *tight* -- 

Athos inhales sharply -- "You did that last night." 

"Yeah. I know I did. Did you like it?" 

Athos parts his lips and stares -- 

And stares -- 

And -- "Is this -- is this truly --" 

"We can have this, brother." 

"Are you *certain*." 

Porthos squeezes his eyes shut -- more tears fall. 

"This -- this is why I must *ask* --" 

"I've done this before," Porthos says, and -- opens his eyes again. 

Breathes, as much as he can through his half-blocked nose. 

Breathes -- "I've had -- this sort of thing before." 

Athos looks at him like he's the most remarkable being he's ever come into contact with. "How...?" 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "You know I mostly stayed with friends when I was coming up in the Court. Other kids." 

"Yes, you've -- oh. You'd mentioned, in the past, how very many of them didn't survive... you've had relationships start in the aftermath of those deaths." 

"It's how Flea and I started, really. Didier died of that coughing ague, and -- well, Flea and I were *really* young -- she was eleven and I was ten --" 

Athos *coughs* -- "You... truly?" 

"Not everything. Not right away," Porthos says, and smiles again. "But we were... together. Didier had been one of our closest friends, and we needed to build something in his absence. Something... something warm." 

"Oh." 

"Something as beautiful as he was." Porthos swallows and shakes his head. "Later, it became more about us, what we needed, who we were, what we were *about*. Flea and I had been friends since our Mums introduced us when we were *tiny*, you know? Anyway, you know exactly how it didn't work out, in the end, but --" 

Athos nods slowly. "Do you think... do you think that if you had *kept* the relationship about Didier that it *would* have worked out?" 

Porthos blinks and stares. 

Athos raises his eyebrows. 

Porthos sits up and kisses him, brief and hard. 

"Mm -- Porthos --" 

"You won't lose me." 

Athos flinches. "Don't -- don't ever make that promise." 

Porthos starts to protest -- but. 

But of course he can't. 

He wraps his arms around Athos, instead, and kisses his cheek, and his ear. "That -- trying to keep a relationship from changing and growing? It isn't the way to keep it from fading away." 

"Then what is?" 

"I always thought it must be changing and growing with the other person. Going the same basic directions they go." 

Athos clutches him. "You make that sound far too simple." 

"I think the hardest things always sound simple." 

"Mm. Let's bring Aramis back to life." 

"*Fuck* --" 

"Yes, your theory is absolutely correct." 

Porthos coughs a *shocked* laugh -- 

And Athos clutches him harder, burying his face in against Porthos's throat. 

He isn't weeping, but he's shuddering, over and over again. 

Porthos strokes him and rocks him and just -- 

Keeps him close. 

Keeps him warm. 

Thinks about all the things they'd all done to *survive* the grief in the Court -- 

All the things they'd done to keep it from breaking them down to nothing -- 

Porthos kisses Athos's cheek. "Give me... tell me something you're thinking about Aramis. Right now. Anything at all." 

"I was in love with him." 

Porthos opens his mouth -- 

*Tries* to think of something to *say* to that -- 

Tries *hard* -- "Uh. Him, too?" 

"Weren't you?" 

Well. That was. A question. 

The fact that Porthos is reasonably sure he's bleeding all over the *bed* -- 

Aramis's twitching *hand* -- 

"Porthos... was that -- should I apologize?" 

"No," Porthos says immediately. 

"Porthos." 

"I..." 

"Porthos, you --" 

"Brother," Porthos says, and pulls back enough to meet Athos's gaze. He knows he looks stunned and wounded. 

He doesn't try to look any other way. 

"Brother," he says again. "I uh. I wasn't ready to think about that. That's all." 

"Then I *should* apologize --" 

"No. I asked you a leading question --" 

"*Porthos* --" 

"We're *going* to trip each other up, brother. Or are you about to tell me a lie about all the times I *absolutely* made you flinch by accidentally saying the worst possible thing for you at the worst possible *time* before you told me about your past?" 

Athos bares his teeth like an *animal* -- stops that and nods. "I take your point." 

"*Good*. Now tell me about being in love with him." 

"Brother, you don't want to --" 

"I want to know about you. I want to *hear* this. I want to -- fuck, I want to live in it a little. Please." 

Athos looks at him -- into him. "We can... raise him, this way." 

"Yeah. We can. As *much* as we can." 

"I dreamed of him." 

"Yeah, brother? I like *that*. You deserve good dreams." 

"Did you... no. I'm going to talk about myself. I... I dreamed about him while awake, as well," Athos says, and smiles wryly. 

"I know a *little* about that." 

Athos huffs that little not-laugh. "I couldn't... I couldn't *comprehend* his beauty, at first," he says, and looks away. 

Looks at a memory. 

He narrows his eyes and licks his lips. "It seemed perfectly impossible that a man who looked like him, who moved like him, who *spoke* like him --" 

"Could also wreak that much havoc?" 

Athos turns back to him. "You had the same thoughts." 

"Absolutely. You never expect the pretty ones to be able to *do* that. Whether or not you should know better." 

"I... *why* should I have known better? The dandies we meet --" 

"He never told you about the brothel in his past. Did he." 

Athos blinks. "He... what?" 

For a moment, Porthos feels himself want to shut right the hell up. If Aramis hasn't told Athos -- but. 

He's never going to get the chance. 

He's never going to get the chance to bring them *closer*. 

It's up to him now. "Brother... Aramis was raised in a brothel in the Merchants' Quarter." 

"I -- should you be telling me --" 

"Yes." 

Athos looks at him -- his gaze turns bleak at speed. 

Porthos smiles ruefully and kisses him softly. "He wouldn't want me to hold this back. I just -- I know him. I *knew* him. The *only* reason he didn't tell you this himself is because a part of him was just waiting for you to *ask* about his childhood. He'd never push this on you otherwise --" 

"It wouldn't have been -- *damnit* --" 

"Yeah. I know." 

"I want to *shake* him --" 

"I know." 

"*Tell* me!" 

"His mother -- Claudette d'Herblay was the name she took when she left her people in Spain -- raised him there. There were other children. Children who were and *weren't* being sold. His mother taught him, trained him, trained him to *fight* --" 

"Oh..." 

"And kept him on a *short* lead. When he started getting offers from other brothels for his services -- and his virginity -- his mother started *bolting* him in at night --" 

"He *wanted* to sell himself? Wait, what am I saying, it's *Aramis*." 

They laugh together, painful and sweet and -- warm. 

"He must have wanted... greater freedom. Greater... a wider world than what his mother wanted to give him, right away." 

"That's exactly it. He also wanted the money, so he could buy more books." 

"Oh, of course, I should have *thought* -- but. Where does *Jesus* come into this? Was one of the books he wanted a bible?" 

"Absolutely *not*," Porthos says, and laughs more. "Not until his father got his hands on him." 

"His mother... knew?" 

"Oh, yeah. And one day his father came back, full of *nasty* religion and just plain nastiness, to *claim* his son." 

"But." 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "He told me he thought his mother had been planning to kill him. He told me he wished, sometimes, that *he'd* killed him." 

"Oh -- God." 

"The man threatened Claudette, the brothel..." Porthos shakes his head. "Aramis went with him. And the only book he got to have was a bible, and the only thing he got to hear about his mother and all his friends was how disgusting they were. How dirty and --" 

"*No* --" 

"Yeah." 

Athos growls. "And the father sent him to Jesuit schools -- and seminary." 

"Yeah." 

"We've all seen his scars -- was I right to assume they came from the priests?" 

"And the father." 

Athos growls again. "I want -- I want..." 

"You want to hold him. After murdering his father and a clutch of priests." 

"I -- yes. That sounds -- hm. I'm not certain 'correct' is the mot juste --" 

"It really *is*, brother." 

Athos huffs again. "Oh, but -- he told me. He told me that when he realized what *secrets* the bible held, what truths were behind the Church's 'heresies'..." 

"Yeah, brother? You always were able to sit still for the sermons better than I was." 

Athos licks his lips and shivers. "He told me he'd found... a way out. A freedom. He told me that truth *was* freedom. That *love* was freedom, true love, true faith... I wished... I wished I could join him in his happiness." 

Porthos strokes through Athos's hair. "Love's never made you feel free." 

"I've only ever felt free when I've been free of love. I've had cause to disagree with freedom." 

"Then I won't feel bad about trying to wrap you up tight in me, eh?" 

"Oh. Please don't. I --" 

And then there's a knock on the door. 

A *rap* on the door. Familiar and sharp and -- out of place? 

Porthos has no idea what he *means* by that. 

But Athos is frowning and tugging his way out of his arms -- 

"Oi --" 

"No, I -- that's *Treville's* knock." 

"What --" But of course it *is*. Porthos releases Athos and pulls on a fresh pair of breeches -- Athos has his own fresh pair from his drawer in Porthos's bureau. 

They quickly throw shirts on, and then Porthos opens the door. 

It's Treville, all right, and he looks -- wonderful and horrible at the same time, somehow. 

*He's* ready for another day at the garrison -- and the palaces, if necessary -- and there's something like an air of pure bull-headed determination about him that Porthos understands with *every* part of himself, but Porthos will be damned if the man has gotten more than a few hours of sleep these past few nights. 

He's steady. 

He's *hard*. 

He's the bloody *Captain*. But... 

Well, all right, now he's raising his eyebrows at Porthos. 

"Sorry, sir, come in --" 

"No, son, don't apologize. We're none of us in the best shape. But... we've a lot to talk about in a relatively small period of time," Treville says, walking in and nodding to Athos -- 

Who's actually *blushing* while he laces up his *trousers*, and at *any other time*, Porthos would be laughing his *arse* off about that, or at least *teasing* Athos a little --

But Treville still has that air of absolute *purpose* about him, and he's standing practically at attention by Porthos's little table, where he can look them both over. 

Time to do their jobs, or -- something. "What is it, sir?" 

Treville looks at Athos *hard* --

Athos blushes *deeper* -- 

"Right, first off, you both *should* know that I think it's a *good* thing that you're letting this fuck-awful tragedy bring you closer together." And he looks at *both* of them hard.

"Uhh..." 

Athos looks like he's strangling on his own *tongue*. 

"And that's all I'm going to say about that," Treville says.

"Thank you, sir!" 

"Yes. I. Thank you. Sir," Athos says, looking glassy-eyed.

Treville shows his teeth. "On to business. Athos. How much have you told Porthos about your *Uncles*." 

Athos and Porthos blink together, and then Athos says, "I -- very little. I don't... speak much. About my childhood." 

"Unsurprising -- and understandable. Does he know that *I'm* your Uncle, over and above being your godfather." 

"Yes, sir." 

Treville nods and turns to Porthos. "What else do you know about my place in Athos's life, son?" 

And that... 

Porthos looks to Athos -- 

Athos smiles ruefully -- 

Treville *looks* at them -- and barks a laugh. "You told him about my relationship with your *parents*, son?" 

"It was that sort of conversation, sir," Athos says, and now *he's* standing at attention. 

Treville nods slowly. "Then that's a good-enough foundation to stand on. Both of you sit down, please." 

"Sir?" 

"Please," Treville says, and starts to pace -- 

And stops, by the windowsill, with one hand on Porthos's scarf. 

His mother's scarf. 

His hand is *shaking*. 

"Sir, if you need to --" 

"I need to tell you both something about my past -- and your own, Porthos." 

Porthos's stomach -- drops. "What do you mean." 

Athos is frowning and looking back and forth between them. "Sir...?" 

"Athos would have always been your brother, Porthos." 

"Of course he --" 

"Even if I'd been able to save your mother. The way I was supposed to," Treville says, and turns to face Porthos. 

Porthos -- can't. He can't... 

"Amina and I were planning to get married, so I could adopt you --" 

"What --" 

"Laurent and Marie-Angelique, Athos's parents, would've been your godparents. It was all decided." 

"What the bloody *hell* --" 

"I'll go back to the beginning," Treville says, and lifts the scarf in careful hands. "The woman who gave your mother this scarf -- her guardian Ife -- lives on my lands outside Paris now. She -- and her sisters Omolayo and Omolara -- picked your mother up off the streets after her former masters kicked her out. It was an act of 'charity' on their part, you see. They could've sold her on the black market to pay some of their debts. 

"Instead... the streets, with nothing to her name. She went with Ife, Lara, and Layo, and they taught her the Yoruba language and customs. And what witchcraft she could learn," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Keep bloody going! I -- she didn't -- she couldn't *tell* me this! She got *sick* when she tried to talk about her past!" 

"Do you know why, son?" 

And *then* it hits. "You -- *fuck*. *Fuck* -- you -- you're my *father*?" 

Treville stares at him for long moments. 

Long and -- and *hungry* moments. 

"Yes --" 

"You -- you --" 

"But not by blood." 

Porthos blinks and blushes and tries to fight back the rage and confusion and -- "What are you -- what does that *mean*?" 

"It means I'm your father in every way that *matters*... but that your mother and I weren't lovers until *after* she was pregnant with you." 

Porthos pants -- 

And *pants* -- 

"Fuck, I -- *fuck*. All I know about this is what Yejide told me, that my Mum got mixed up with a crooked death-mage and made a bad bargain, bargained her life and *past* away --" 

"She was *forced* to make that 'bargain', son." 

"How do *you* know?" 

"I --" Treville growls. "After she disappeared with you. After your blood-father -- the son of the then-Marquis de Belgard --" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"He hired an assassin -- a mad, earth-magic-immune one -- to murder both of you. On *his* parents' orders." 

"Why the bloody hell did he *take* them?"

"He didn't want to be disinherited, son." 

And Porthos feels -- sick. Just. 

Just... 

Athos is right there, though. Gripping his arm and leading him to the bed -- 

Sitting him down and *continuing* to grip him -- 

"I didn't tell Porthos that *you* were a witch, too, sir," Athos says. 

Porthos blinks -- 

Treville *grunts* -- 

And when Porthos looks up, Treville's eyes are gleaming a *hot* blue. Porthos nods. "You're not just a witch. You're a shifter. What animal -- no. You're *absolutely* a dog." 

"And so was your mother. My Amina-love. My *mate*." 

Porthos -- breathes. "It -- how did you even *meet* my Mum? What -- I don't bloody *understand* this," Porthos says, and he knows he's pleading, but it's what he has left, at this point. 

Treville's eyes fade back to normal and he drops into a crouch. "Your mother worked at a teahouse not *far* from the Court of Miracles -- and very far from her guardians. Her guardians hated this, but Amina loved her space. Her *freedom*. My other brothers Reynard and Kitos -- Athos's other Uncles -- went there after a night of carousing and tried *very* hard to make time with her. Your mother told them what they could do with themselves. They kept going back... and eventually brought me with them. 

"I'd been to the neighbourhood to chase boys, but not in some time --" 

"Bloody *what*?" 

"I... neglected to mention that, too..." 

Treville smiles wryly. "Athos's father put a lead on me -- and my whoring habits -- a couple of years before he made me the Captain." 

Porthos stares. 

Treville looks at him evenly. 

Porthos *stares*. 

Treville scratches in front of his bloody *ear* -- 

No, he's not asking this question, yet. "You met my Mum." 

"She swept me off my feet," Treville says, and smiles. "I went home with her that night -- to talk -- but..." 

"You did more than bloody talk?" 

Treville shakes his head, licking his lips and obviously looking at a memory. "We talked about everything. Everything under the sun. She brewed me her spicy tea and we stayed up all night and it took me a *little* while to realize that I was in love with her, but not, ultimately, that long. Just too long to keep her from getting involved with Belgard -- whose pedigree put mine in the dust. 

"Still, I had Laurent on my side, and he would've *helped* me extricate your mother from that pustule's clutches --" 

"She didn't want to *go*?" 

"She *absolutely* wanted to go. She just wanted to do it under her own power," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. "Your mother hated having *debts* to pay, son. And there was nothing I or Laurent could do to convince her that it would be a favour to *us* to get her away from Belgard." 

That... Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"Son?" 

"Were you involved with Athos's parents at that point?" 

Treville's smile for that is *terrifyingly* dirty. 

"That's the way he tended to look when he was surrounded by his brothers," Athos says. "When he was being 'Fearless'. Or my Uncle Reynard's 'meneur'." 

Porthos *looks* at Athos. 

Athos licks his lips. "I imagine that information might have been helpful at an earlier date." 

"I --" 

"Don't blame your brother, son. It was wrong of me to try to pretend to be someone I'm not with my *sons*." 

"Your." And Athos is blinking rapidly. 

"I love you," Treville says. "I love *all* of you. Losing Aramis --" Treville growls -- and his eyes are wet. 

"Was he your son, too, sir?" 

"I wanted him to be," Treville says, quietly. "He was in my *heart*." 

Porthos swallows and -- and reaches for Treville. 

Just -- 

It feels like too much. 

You don't touch your Captain unless he *asks* you to do it or he's *bleeding*, but -- 

But when he rests a hand on Treville's shoulder -- 

When he *squeezes* through those worn, supple leathers -- 

Treville pants and *grips* his arm -- and holds it there when Porthos tries to pull back. 

"I -- yes, sir." 

"I have so much more to *tell* you both," he says, and his voice is hoarse, *rough* -- 

"We'll listen," Athos says. 

"I have to..." Treville growls. "There's work I have to do at the garrison today. *Neither* of *you* are to show your faces there." 

"Sir --" 

"But --" 

"*But*... there are people I need you to meet," Treville says, and releases Porthos before standing. 

Porthos blinks -- 

Athos is doing the same. 

"Finish dressing," Treville says. "You're *both* coming to my rooms in the city." 

Well... that...

No, Porthos can do his thinking later.


	6. It might be time to fill in a few more blanks, Treville.

Treville is, of course, being flanked by Porthos on his Yves and Athos on his Actaeon. 

They'd brought Aramis's Cosette back to Paris with them. 

She's waiting for him in the garrison stables, and Treville is going to have to decide what to do with her, since she's not the kind of horse who'll take to just any rider. She's just temperamental and unpredictable *enough* -- for everyone not named Aramis -- to be a liability to a soldier. 

But what is he supposed to do with her? *Sell* her? 

Sell *Aramis's* horse? 

To bloody *who*? He can't -- 

"Sir..." 

Treville inhales sharply. Porthos is still treating him like the Captain, which -- 

Which he *should*, on public streets, but -- 

But...

"Perhaps," Athos says, "you might... speak to us." 

Treville blinks. 

"That. Right there," Porthos says, and *peers* at Treville. He's *blushing*. 

*Athos* is blushing. 

The urge to *be* the Captain and distract them both -- 

Turn them both *away* from him -- 

(Don't do that, amant.) 

Jason -- 

(*Do* recall that we both must be *honest* with your sons today for, oh, just a *few* reasons.) 

Fuck -- right. Right. Thank you. 

(*Any* time.) 

Treville licks his lips -- and glances at Athos and Porthos, who are sitting their horses like they're on *parade*. "None of that, men." 

"Sir?" 

And Athos raises an eyebrow. 

Better. "I was... thinking about Cosette." 

"Oh --" 

"-- *shit*," Porthos says. "He *loved* her." 

"Yes. He... he was the only one who could *convince* her --" 

"-- that he was *worth* her. Worth her sodding *attention*." 

"*Yes*. I -- she would *deign* to allow him to --" 

"-- bloody pay *court* to her -- fuck, sir, what are you -- *are* there any men who are as good with the horses as Aramis?" 

Treville grunts. "You boys would know as well as I would." 

"*Fuck*." 

"Sir..." 

Treville nods. "I'm going to take her. The stableboys on my lands outside of Paris are used to bloody-minded horses. And... you boys will be able to visit with her." 

Porthos swallows, looking and smelling so *hurt* -- 

Athos nods tightly. 

"Thank you, sir," Porthos says hoarsely. 

"You don't have to thank me for this --" 

"Thank you for *thinking* of Cosette." 

"Yes," Athos says, and swallows, as well. 

Oh, boys... 

"I um..." 

"Mm?" 

"*Who* are you taking us to meet, sir?" 

Well... 

(Do make this good, amant.) 

You shut it.

(How quickly the gratitude palls...) 

Treville scratches in front of his ear -- 

Athos is scanning their perimeter *pointedly*.

*Porthos* is giving him a *look*. Which --

That's a lot better than being the Captain to them. 

"One of them is a mage named Jason Blood. I..." Where to even begin to describe the man?

(My devastating good looks?) 

"Is he... hard to talk about, sir...?" And Porthos's voice is *painfully* gentle. 

Just -- 

(If you're not careful, your sons are going to start *comforting* you --) 

Fuck -- 

(On horseback --) 

Fuck fuck --

(On a public *street* --) 

*Fuck* -- "I!" 

"Sir? Are you quite all right?" 

Porthos *and* Athos are studying him closely. 

Jason is laughing his *arse* off. 

What the hell is *Aramis* doing? 

(Devouring a portion of my library. Do go on.) 

"Sir," Porthos says, frowning, "if you need to speak about something else --" 

"*We* need to speak about *this*, sons," Treville says, and breathes. 

And -- breathes. 

"Jason is my brother, and my ally in the left-handed war, and my lover. *Not* in that order." 

"You..." 

"Yes, Athos?" 

"It never occurred to me that you could have a brother I wouldn't *know*, sir." 

"I met him after I lost my other brothers, son. I met him..." Treville shakes his head once. "I was a broken mess. Laurent and Marie-Angelique had been dead for nearly a year, and I felt like a fraud as the Captain. None of you boys had come to me, yet, and I didn't know *how* to go to you, Athos."

"Sir?" 

"I was lonely and aching and -- desperate. So desperate. All I could think about, when I thought about going to visit you and Thomas, was how very well you'd fit *here*, with me. And how much of a help Thomas would be to me at court." 

"The precise opposite of what Father wanted for us, yes, but -- sir." And Athos is frowning at him. 

"Son?" 

"You must know that Thomas and I had long since *realized* where our respective talents and abilities lay. We..." Athos frowns more deeply. "You hesitated to come to us because of *that*?"

And Treville feels... dim. Awful. Small. But he still must continue. "Yes, son. And I take your points. I... oh, son, I'm so sorry --" 

"You needed -- we needed *you*, sir, but you were *alone* --" 

"Yes --" 

"Sir, *I* apologize. We should've called you to us, we should've --" 

Treville growls, annoying his Lisle and making Porthos stare at him and -- making Athos stop. Good enough. "You're not to apologize for that, son." 

"Sir --" 

"We both know it was my responsibility to call on you as your and Thomas's godfather --" 

"Sir, I apologize for interrupting, but we both know that you never stood on that sort of ceremony." 

Treville -- shuts his teeth. 

Jason is humming. 

"No one should be alone when they're grieving," Porthos says, slowly and gently. "No one -- you *all* should've been all *over* each other, and we can agree on that. Yeah?" 

"Yes," Athos says. 

Treville -- pants. 

Athos scans their perimeter -- 

And Porthos looks to Treville. "Sir... you want to take all this weight, all this *blame*, on yourself --" 

"It's *mine* --" 

"What's yours is all the time you spent not telling us who you were," Porthos says, and laughs a little madly. "And who *we* were." 

"Oh, son --" 

"Take *that*, sir. Take that and *do* something with it --" 

"I'll never lie to either of you again. I'll never *hide* from you --" 

"*Good*. Bloody *perfect*," Porthos says, and scrubs a hand down over his face. "Now just... let us grieve with you. Let us *be* with you." 

Treville licks his lips and just -- 

Tries to imagine -- 

Tries to -- 

"It's what you did with Father and Mother, wasn't it, sir?" And Athos is looking at him again. 

"Yes -- I. And Kitos and Reynard, when we had them --" 

"When you were grieving for my Mum, sir?" 

"And you, son. We -- I could *feel* that you were alive, but you could've been in the next room over or you could've been on a whole separate sphere. I couldn't see you. I couldn't *touch* you." 

"Why -- what *happened*?" 

"I -- you were hidden from me. From all of us. The same enchantment that kept your mother from talking about her past kept us all from being able to *find* her. I tracked you both to the Court of Miracles, but when I tried to follow your scents..." Treville shakes his head and growls again, helplessly. 

Lisle's ears twitch -- 

Treville shakes it off and pats and soothes Lisle, calming them both down as best as he can. 

"Sir... what happened with our scents?" 

"The scent-trails... dissipated. I would get to one of the markets where my Amina-love *obviously* bought food for the two of you, and I would track her scents from there, and I would get as far as a fouled fountain. Or an alley stuffed with trash. Or a tenement so dilapidated that I was always expecting it to have collapsed --" 

"Fuck. *Fuck* -- you were so close!" 

Treville *snarls* -- 

"You were -- you were hunting us as the dog?" 

"*Yes*, I -- I could never get *into* the Court far enough as a man. I --" 

"Fuck, I *know* what happened when you tried. *Damn* it --" 

"We need," Athos says, and he's pale, so *pale* -- "We need... to not be alone anymore." 

"Bloody *yes* --" 

"That -- I --" 

"Are you about to *argue* that, sir?" 

"*No*, Porthos. It's what I want. It's what I *crave*. I -- I've wanted to *adopt* you all --" 

"Uh." 

"All of us?" 

"All three of you. And. I've wanted you in my homes." 

Athos is blinking. 

Porthos is staring. 

And then, almost simultaneously, they come to attention and focus on their surroundings. 

Treville can't help but smile. "I know. I know it's... a great deal. I won't ever pressure --" 

For some reason, Athos begins to huff that absence of a laugh of his -- 

And Porthos coughs. 

Hm. "Share the joke...?" 

"I uh..." 

"Porthos spent some time this morning assuring me that he would not pressure me for sex, even though we had made love last night."

Treville licks his lips. 

Frowns -- 

Tries *very* hard -- he coughs. 

"Was that a laugh, sir...?" 

"I think it was a laugh, brother," Porthos says. 

"I believe you're correct," Athos says. 

"I --" 

"It's not very fatherly to laugh at your sons' pain and difficulties, sir," Porthos says. 

"Oh, fuck." 

"No, sir, it's rather terribly incorrect." 

Porthos frowns direfully and nods. 

Treville gives up and laughs hard. 

"*That's* better." 

"Yes, I'd say so." 

"Sons --" 

"You're not supposed to *hide* from us anymore, sir," Porthos says. 

"I --" 

"Precisely," Athos says. "Tell us more about Jason Blood." 

Well. That's become the *safe* topic -- 

Jason *guffaws* -- 

Shut it -- 

(Never.) 

Treville sighs happily. "He helped me find you, Porthos." 

"What -- you. What? *I* came to the garrison --" 

"But you maybe came a little bit sooner than you --" 

"Oh -- shit -- I was bloody planning to study more! To -- to *educate* myself -- did you sodding *summon* me?" 

Treville smiles wryly at Porthos. "Yes. I'd already found the assassin Belgard had sent and done for him -- and Belgard, too --" 

"*Shit* --" 

"How... exactly... did you cover that up?" And Athos is blinking again. 

"I didn't," Treville says. "Your father did *for* me." 

Athos opens his mouth -- and closes it. "He was your brother." 

"And the man who'd planned to be Porthos's godfather. He didn't -- precisely -- *send* me to murder Belgard when we found out that he was behind Amina's disappearance, but..." 

Porthos and Athos share a look -- 

A smile -- 

"I like your Dad, brother." 

"I rather liked him, too," Athos says, ducking his head and smiling more. 

"Your mother, now. She *did* send me to murder Belgard. Not that she *had* to, but." 

"I." 

"But I was talking about Jason." 

(You're a *vicious* tease.) 

You've earned it. 

(Yes, probably.) 

"Uh. Wait." 

"Mm?" 

Porthos licks his lips and looks at him. "I just -- what did you do to the assassin? To Belgard? I just -- I need to know..." 

"How I ended them, son?" 

*Porthos* growls -- "Yeah. Sodding yeah." 

"When I found the assassin -- I never found a solid name for him -- he was in gaol in Reims for slaughtering three wet-nurses like animals. He was mad. Stinking of it. I still tried to interrogate him. I wasn't gentle --" 

"You were allowed to --" 

"No, Athos. I enchanted everyone who tried to keep me from the man." 

"I -- see. Please go on." 

"Mm. I sliced pieces off him, healing him with questionable thoroughness as I went." 

"*Fuck* --" 

"He didn't have much information for me. Even when I started promising to bring him more women to murder instead of *only* hurting him --" 

"My God." 

"I stopped healing him. I kept asking my questions. I kept cutting him *up*. Eventually? I left him to bleed to death." 

Porthos shudders -- 

Athos licks his lips. "And... Belgard?" 

"I crept into his manor one night when most everyone was sleeping, used my power to put him into a *deep* sleep, carried him out into the wooded areas -- I'd chosen my spot carefully -- and then set to work... not-quite-gutting him." 

"Uh." 

"I woke him up midway through the process," Treville says, flaring his nostrils for the remembered scents. "I'd taken away his ability to scream -- loudly. He could still scream loud enough to please me." 

"Ah." 

"I asked him about my Amina-love, but I already knew he didn't really know anything about what had happened to her once she'd fled his lands with the assassin on her heels. It was just noise. Distraction to keep him conscious. Keep him *focused* and *alive* for the work I was doing." 

"Uh. Which was?" 

Treville shows his teeth. "I strung him up, son. *By* his intestines." 

"*Shit* --" 

"It took some fast work and not a little conjuring to keep him from falling -- and dying -- multiple times, but I finally got him up and steady. I did have to use *some* rope for support, but, overall, I got the result I wanted: Belgard, alive and writhing and dying just a little too slowly for his own tastes. Belgard weeping and *begging* to die. Belgard *hurting*... perhaps a little bit like I was. 

"Like we were." 

Porthos licks his lips -- 

Athos pats unnecessarily at stolid Actaeon's neck -- 

"So..." 

"Yes, Porthos?" 

"So I'm going to guess you weren't all that gentle with the death-mage who made that bargain with my mum, either." 

Treville shows his teeth again. "I had nothing to track him with. I had no way to find him -- even after I had your mother's body --" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"She's buried on my lands outside Paris, son. I'll take you there." 

"Yes, you sodding will! But -- but *tell* us. Jason helped you find him?" 

"I saved Jason's life -- completely randomly. He'd wound up fighting a battle with some *very* large and powerful demons on my lands -- in one of my turnip fields, actually -- and it went badly for *them*, but it didn't precisely go well for him, despite the fact that he's functionally immortal --" 

"Wait, what --" 

"-- and has *several* kinds of magery under his belt. I..." Treville shakes his head. "I'll let him tell you where the immortality came from. It's a dark tale, and it's *his*." 

"Right, fine, but --" 

"How... old...?" 

"Somewhere over six hundred. He could be over seven hundred at this point -- he's lost count." 

"*Shit*." 

Athos *stops* blinking and checks their perimeter -- 

"I -- where had the *demons* come from?" 

"The best way to describe it is 'hell-sphere'," Treville says. "Jason *walks* the spheres, which are numberless in his estimation --" 

"What --" 

"Wait, what --" 

"*Jason*... is not *bound* to this place," Treville says. "And he's made a lot of allies in a lot of different places over the years. And he's learned a lot of *things*. And *one* of the things he's learned? Is how to take a person's possessions and scry from them not just where they are, but where they've *been* -- even if the part of the possession he's holding has never been to that place." 

"I -- fuck," Porthos is staring. "I know just enough about all of this to know -- how powerful *is* he?" 

"Very. He's the single most dangerous man I've ever met, and --" 

"Hm," Athos says. "Well. Now we know why he's your lover." 

Porthos snickers. "That's *right*." 

Treville blinks. 

(The *first* things you told me about your brothers -- and *sisters* -- tended to be what *weapons* they were best at wielding, and the *messes* you made together.) 

I -- not Marie-Angelique!

(You told me she *annihilated* your enemies at court.) 

Oh. 

(Yes, *oh*.) 

I like peaceful things, *too* -- 

(Yes, of course you do, amant. And you'll be *just* as tall as Kitos someday.) 

You know, you can go bugger one of those larval Yrek things. 

(Well, all that slime would come in handy, I suppose...) 

"Sir...?" 

*Shit* -- no. "Sorry about that, sons. Jason's being an arsehole right *now*." 

"Uh. You're *talking* to him?" 

"We're linked by blood-magic, sons. That's *how* I healed him in the first place -- it really is the best way *to* heal a blood-mage." 

"Right, but -- no." 

"Son?" 

Porthos looks at him -- and blushes. "I was... thinking about you and my Mum, sir." 

Oh... "We were linked, too, son." 

"You were. You -- no. You *said* you -- but. You also said you were linked to *me*." 

Treville winces -- "I am. Your mother and I were *bound*, soul to soul, when you were still in the *womb*, son." 

"What the --" 

"Forgive me," Athos says, "but everything *I've* come to understand about magic says that sort of thing is *ill-advised*." 

Jason sighs. (You have excellent taste in children, amant.) 

I've always thought so. "I won't say it isn't. But... we were young, we were in love, and it was the only way to augment our powers so that I could be made into Amina's *protector* -- while Amina was also given enough power to protect *herself* more effectively." 

Porthos shudders. "What happened? What... how did my Mum get *away* from you?" 

"A mission, son. I was still a Musketeer, and I -- and *all* my brothers -- were called up for an action into Spanish territory. Amina was left without *any* protectors. And -- we didn't suspect Belgard of anything, at the time. We weren't frightened." 

Porthos growls again. 

"Precisely." 

"But... you can... we're connected." 

"Son --" 

"Are you about to hide from me?" 

Treville opens his mouth -- and closes it. It -- no. "It's only this, son. There are barriers between us now --" 

"*Yes* --" 

"*There are barriers between our thoughts and feelings and emotions* --" 

"Sir," Athos says, sharp and hard. "You were bound this way to your brothers and Mother, were you not?" 

"Not -- not quite the same way --" 

"But you could speak to them at long distances. You could *share* with them." 

Treville *growls*. "Not Kitos. Not Reynard. They said no, and died young. Your parents agreed to take my bite and let me bind them, and they should've been able to take my vitality, my *power* --"

Athos blinks. "You -- could heal them?" 

"Your parents never had another ague after I bound them, they never --" Treville growls. "Your mother was *pregnant* --" 

"My *God* --" 

"I could feel -- ah, fuck, Athos, I'm sorry --" 

"No, no, don't apologize, tell me what *happened*!" 

"The carriage accident. They -- they fell too far, too fast. At least..." Treville feels his expression crumple. "The All-Mother told me it was too much. That it was against everything for them to survive that. That I didn't have *enough* vitality to *give* them -- not and still live," Treville says, and scrubs a hand down over his face. "She. She told me that She wasn't ready for me to die. That it wasn't my *choice*." 

"Fuck --" 

"Oh, sir --" 

"I'm so sorry, son --" 

"*No*, sir --" 

"Don't bloody *apologize* for not *killing* yourself!" 

"*Please* listen to Porthos!" 

"But --" 

"Sir, I know you're the Captain and also my father, and also that we're in public, but I'm *really* close to hitting you." 

Treville coughs a *horrible* laugh -- 

"*That's* better --" 

"Yes, much. Now push down the barriers between you and Porthos --" 

"*Athos* --" 

"And then tell me how *we* can be bound. Is it simply a bite?" 

"We -- we were speaking about your *parents* --" 

"And I hope we will speak of them *more*, sir, but --" Athos shakes his head. "There's too much. There's -- there's too *much* loss for us to be separated by even the *slightest* amount. I can't. I don't think I can stomach it." 

Treville inhales. "One. One moment, son. Check our perimeter." 

"Yes, sir." 

Treville turns to Porthos. "You're going to hear me -- and feel me -- inside you in just a moment. Try not to move too precipitously." 

"Oh, sir..." Porthos smiles at him. "I remember this from when Mum was pouring her magic into me to protect me, when I was little. She was inside me then, too." 

Treville's heart hurts, but he nods. "It will be... very close to that," he says, and *reaches* for his son -- 

For his *boy* -- 

He pushes aside the small accretions on their power that have built up over the years from lack of use -- 

He brushes it all *aside* -- 

(Oh -- oh, fuck --) 

Shh... it's all right, son... 

(You really -- you really feel that. You really *mean* that when you say it!) 

Treville *grips* Porthos's spirit before he can stop himself -- 

(Unh --) 

You were mine before you were capable of *thought*!

(Uhh...) And Porthos laughs aloud. "Fuck, Daddy, are you this possessive with *all* your family?" 

(*Do* be honest, amant.) 

"I... try not to be? Porthos --" 

"Hm. He was being possessive, brother?" 

"Oh, yeah, brother. I made the mistake of sounding surprised that he *meant* it when he used the word 'son', and suddenly it was like I was a puppy in the jaws of a really *big* dog." 

"Being... shaken?" 

"No, just gripped. *Aggressively*." 

"Hm. Yes, I'm familiar with that protocol. My Uncle never responded *calmly* to Thomas or me doubting his care for us." 

"Athos --" 

"No, eh? You always needed them to *know* you loved them. Didn't you, sir." 

"*Yes*. And I -- fuck, I love you both. I *need* you both. I --" And he thinks of Aramis -- 

Thinks of Aramis's *most* carefree laugh -- 

Porthos had smacked him with his hat as the three of them were riding out of the garrison -- 

His smile had been so bright, so broad, so *young* -- 

Treville shudders -- 

And Porthos inhales sharply. 

"What -- what is it?" 

Porthos *swallows* -- 

"I accidentally showed Porthos a memory I had of Aramis," Treville says, and -- tries not to kick himself. 

*Tries* -- 

(*Yes*, amant. This is what --) 

"Sir --" 

"We want you to do that, sir," Porthos says, quietly, and then smiles. "We want you -- I can tell you what I hit him for that day." 

*Treville* swallows. "Tell me. Please." 

"Athos, it was the Bourges mission. When we were just riding out of the garrison."

"Ah, yes. We had a long ride ahead of us, and Aramis was trying to cajole us into telling stories." 

"*Exactly*. And I agreed immediately, because sometimes I'm an *idiot* --" 

"And he started talking about making love --" 

"Fucking." 

Athos coughs. "Yes, well. There were *sisters* involved --" 

"Three of 'em," Porthos says, laughing hard. 

Treville *snorts* -- 

"So Athos is turning an interesting shade of plum over there --" 

"I may have also been choking --" 

"You were definitely choking --" 

"I had begun helplessly thinking of Thomas, and wondering if the two of *us* could have ever made love --" 

*Porthos* chokes -- 

Treville *stares* -- 

"Did you. Did you come up with an *answer* to that question, brother?" 

"I remember thinking about the lengthy, detailed, and, of course, horrifyingly illuminating conversation Thomas insisted we have about our Uncle Treville when we were boys --" 

Porthos laughs hard -- 

Treville stares *at* Athos -- 

And Athos smiles at them both sharply. "It was a relief on more than one level when Porthos began smacking Aramis with his hat. And then, of course, it was simply... beautiful." 

Porthos's breath hitches -- "Ah -- shit. I *want* his laughter." 

"Yes. Yes. Please." 

Jason... is looking at him. 

And they're almost home. 

Porthos is checking their perimeter, but *Athos* is eyeing him suspiciously. 

Athos knows him better. 

"Sons... there's the other person I need you to meet." 

"Oh -- yeah -- another brother?" 

"I..." 

"Do tell, sir. Who *else* have you been hiding from us...?" 

Treville is *sweating* -- 

Putting up *walls* between himself and Porthos *reflexively* -- no. 

No, he can't do that. He tears them down. 

Porthos grunts. "What was that?" 

"A belch of paranoia. Self-protectiveness. It --" 

"*Why* are you trying to protect yourself?" 

Just say it. "Because last night I asked Jason to look for other Aramises, on other spheres," Treville says, and -- waits for it. 

Waits for the *explosion*. 

For... 

Porthos is panting. 

Athos's hands are twitching on the reins, making Actaeon smell irritable. 

(*Perhaps* you shouldn't wait, amant.) 

Right. "He... found one." 

"Found -- *sir* --"

"Athos, don't rein up just yet --" 

"Did you bloody kidnap another Aramis *here*?"

"He came by choice," Treville says -- 

"*Shit* --" 

"Sir. What *precisely* do you mean for us to *do* with -- what of *his* brothers? What of *his* Treville?" 

"Yeah --" 

"He doesn't have them," Treville says, quietly and firmly. 

And that... stops them. Stops them *cold*. 

Treville nods. "Before you ask, he also lacks parents, a commission..." 

"How *old* is he?" And Porthos looks like he's *ready* to be horrified. 

"He's an adult. He seemed to be the same age as our Aramis, but I haven't had the chance to ask for specifics --" 

"If he *isn't* a Musketeer, sir, then what *does* he do?" And Athos is looking at him hard. 

Treville smiles wryly and strokes his beard. "He's an assassin... who occasionally uses his spirit-magery for his work." 

"A bloody -- wait." Porthos is thinking beside him. 

Treville does his best not to look in on it. 

"I... hm." Athos is also thinking. 

Treville checks their perimeter and -- Jason... 

(We're discussing magical theory. He truly is well-trained.) 

We knew that. 

(More than just what he can do, amant -- it's in how he *thinks*. Someone taught him -- and taught him well -- how to open his mind to the infinite. He is... flexible.) 

More flexible than he wants to be? 

(I would say... yes. For now.) 

Treville blinks. 

(I haven't had any hints or premonitions or visits from my others -- not even the one we snatched this Aramis away from. What I've had is a front-row seat to this conversation. This Aramis will come to enjoy his emotional and intellectual flexibility very, very soon.) 

That... makes every kind of sense in the world. 

(I thought you'd see it my way. And now he's getting ready to skewer me on another argument. If you'll pardon me...?) 

Of course. 

Treville goes back to focusing on their perimeter and waiting for his sons. 

Waiting -- not long. 

Porthos grunts first. "I can see it." 

"*I* can see it and I'm *horrified*," Athos says. 

"I... we don't *know* what kind of assignments this one takes, brother." 

"I --" 

"He told me," Treville says, calmly and evenly, "that he often took assignments that would allow him to bolster the Queen's position." 

"Well, that's --" 

"What," Athos says, "is the Queen *like* on that sphere?" 

"At least superficially like our own, son. We spoke about the role I took at court." 

"Is that *wise*?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "This Aramis... wished a time-limit on his stay here." 

"*Fuck* -- how long?" 

"Two weeks." 

Porthos groans. 

Athos shudders -- 

"I don't -- I don't know what to *do* with this, sir!" 

"I don't, *either* --" 

"Talk to him. Get to know him --" 

"*Fuck* -- fuck, I -- *sir* --" 

"His life has a great deal in common with our own Aramis's -- up to a point," Treville says, and -- breathes. "I wanted. At the very least, you boys should have a chance to speak." 

Porthos stares at him with a look lost somewhere between incredulous and *pleading*. 

And Athos... "You did this for us." 

"I... not only for you. But yes," Treville says. 

Athos nods solemnly. "We will speak with him. We will. We will not break before this." 

"No," Porthos says, shuddering and sitting straight. "We won't, sir. We -- we *won't*." 

And that -- 

They're doing this for the wrong *reasons* --

They -- 

And abruptly, Amina is laughing in his head, raucous and ridiculous at once as she cups his face. ("Sweet *brother*. You must remember that we all live inside our *own* minds, with our *own* needs and fears and wants and hungers and *selves* all round us.") 

Porthos gasps -- "That. That's what she called you? 'Sweet brother'?" 

Treville shivers. "Sometimes, after we were bound, she would call me 'my husband'." 

"And you called her your 'Amina-love'." 

"And sometimes 'sister'. And sometimes -- well, I didn't *call* her 'my wife' very often." 

"No?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I was mostly shouting that at ah... heated moments." 

Porthos snorts -- 

And Athos smiles wryly. "It's going to be wildly stimulating to be bound to you, sir. I can already tell." 

"One does one's best, son."


	7. School! Now with 100% less torture!

Aramis watches Blood across their table in Treville's perfectly impressive library and tries to guess what will come next. 

He has been tested again on his ability to mine mages for information without getting caught -- he'd failed once out of five attempts, which Blood *says* is exceptional, considering that he was working against *him*, but -- 

But. 

Failure is never acceptable. 

Blood has given him a book to read -- in *Arabic*, and Aramis wants to know why the man has any idea that he speaks it. Musa's _Apotheoses_ is a fascinating book, and Aramis wouldn't give up the chance to read it even if it meant that he would not have to deal with other men's problematic emotions, but there is a special sort of paranoia building within him.

He can't quite seem to escape the feeling that he has been watched for years. Blood has assured him that, before last night, he had never laid eyes on Aramis — on *him*— but the simple fact of the matter is that he knows too much.

("If I remember correctly, you read Latin, German, Portuguese, and Spanish, as well as the Arabic. Is there anything else I missed…?")

There hadn't been. Aramis hasn't had time to learn any other languages in between assignments and his own… does he want to call them hobbies?

What do you call the things you do when you have all the time in the world to do them, but not much *desire* to do them? He can afford all the books he wants now, and he spends plenty of time in study, but there isn't the same satisfaction to that sort of thing as there had been when he had been a child at Madame Margaud's.

Knowing why he's lost his love for studying should allow him to gain his love back. Understanding oneself should mean that one has power over oneself. Absolute understanding should mean absolute *power*.

'Should' is a meaningless word.

"Lost in thought…?"

Aramis frowns. He doesn't want to know what expression had been on his face. He focuses on Blood. "I am considering the nature of observation," he says, which is at least partially true.

Blood raises an eyebrow. "Yes…?"

Aramis leans back in the perfectly comfortable library chair — though it's not as lived-in as the chairs in the study — crosses his legs, and steeples his fingers. "You say you have not observed me before last night and I believe you, and yet…"

"You remain troubled."

Does he want to admit that? Is there any way to avoid admitting that with a mage like Blood? Aramis settles for nodding.

Blood taps the thin volume between them with two long fingers. "I saw that you had at least begun the chapter on… longevity. "

Aramis frowns again. "The language is quite poetic —*all* of the language is quite poetic —"

Blood laughs richly. "All of the language is dripping with madness."

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "I was trying to be polite."

"I'd rather you be honest." 

And, that is — to some extent — what he'd agreed to. "Very well. You have my apologies —"

Blood gestures with a grand sort of acceptance.

"What do you wish me to learn about the chapter on longevity?"

"As much as you *possibly* can, Aramis. This volume — and everything it does to a mage's mind while that mage is in the process of reading it — is the foundation for a great number of the more complicated workings. *Especially* for spirit-mages."

Aramis considers that… but it does make sense. "The book requires the mage to accept multiple spheres, multiple planes, multiple…" Aramis waves a hand. "The mage must not be the slightest bit hidebound."

Blood gives him a curious look for that answer.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all. I would simply like to know where you were trained. *How* you were trained. *Who* trained you. I don't suppose you'd care to share…?"

Aramis resists the urge to narrow his eyes. There was nothing whatsoever in that statement that was disingenuous — Blood would genuinely like to *know*. But this…

"We know so much about you — about *our* Aramis — that it's already become difficult for you to believe that there are things we *don't* know. Yes…?"

Aramis nods once.

Blood inclines his head — and taps the book again. "Let's go back to the subject of longevity."

Aramis raises an eyebrow.

"It dovetails; I promise," Blood says, and smiles. "What were Musa's conclusions about the flexibility of the long-lived?"

"That either it existed or they didn't."

"Do elaborate."

Aramis wants to raise his eyebrow higher, but doesn't. "It seemed that Musa was saying that an immortal like yourself would be forced into physical, moral, temporal, and spiritual flexibility by the lives they led, or they would be broken by the various changes in the world across the passing of time." 

"Very good," Blood says, and smiles wryly, "though I wouldn't say that we are forced into anything."

"No…?"

"Any number of the long-lived individuals I've known over the years rather *chose* to open their minds — or to close them. In the end, far more of us than the religious would care to admit are given the ability to choose whether they will live or die." And Blood gives him a steady look for that. It's not a searching or a dissecting look — Aramis believes that *Blood* believes he already knows what he will find. But…

It's an uncomfortable look just the same. Aramis refuses to turn away from it. "M'sieu Blood. Do you think *I* have chosen to die in this way? Not that I'm immortal, but…?" Aramis raises an eyebrow *this* time. "I assure you, my mind is open."

Blood cocks his head to the side. "What would you say were I to offer you one of Luther's bibles?"

Aramis does not make a face. "I have had — and sold — my own. Luther was not known for his ability to create great literature, as opposed to bombast."

"But the Christian bible is literature to you?"

"What else would it be?" Aramis does *not* narrow his eyes. This does not mean that he isn't worried.

Blood hums. "You should know that even though my senses are *not* as powerful as a shifter's…" And Blood raises an eyebrow.

Aramis growls helplessly.

Blood grins delightedly.

"You are pleased by my discomfort?"

"I am *exceedingly* pleased by all the ways you express your discomfort."

"They remind you of the other Aramis."

"Only some of the time," Blood says, leaning back and crossing his long legs. "*You* only remind me of the other Aramis some of the time. As an example, *he* would only have sold a bible if someone he cared for deeply was in need." Blood looks thoughtful for a moment. "Or a child, I suppose." 

Aramis does nothing to hide his distaste.

"If I may ask…"

"You may ask me what you will, M'sieu Blood. Whether or not I choose to answer is another story."

"Very well. How long were *you* in seminary?"

Aramis shows his teeth. "Too."

Blood shows his own teeth. "Well, that's the fascinating thing. Our own Aramis would've said the exact same thing."

Aramis's heart starts beating too quickly with an anger which doesn't suit this moment. It's only reasonable for Blood to be able to… catch him. Leaving aside the man's age, experience, abilities, and *power*, there remains the fact that Blood was intimately acquainted — if at a voyeuristic remove — with another Aramis.

He has to control himself.

He *will* control himself. "You were speaking of the flexibility necessary to successfully navigate immortality," Aramis says, and does his best to pin Blood with a look.

Blood smiles at him fondly. "Our own Aramis had it."

Aramis blinks. "You're joking."

"I'm not. He was no mage, and he was rather egregiously afflicted with Christianity — albeit a fascinating variety of same — but there are reasons why Treville and I continue to find points of commonality between the two of you."

It says nothing good about him that he's this pleased to have his own flexibility acknowledged by Blood. Move on. "Reasons other than your own observations?"

"Ah, that," Blood says, and laughs softly, pulling a bottle of wine out of absolute nothingness and following that conjuring with the retrieval of two beautiful glasses. He pours for both of them.

Aramis considers refusing — he hasn't made it as far as he has as an assassin by accepting wine from cellars he hasn't personally inspected — but, again, Blood is Blood. He accepts, and the wine turns out to be entirely acceptable — even excellent — though not one of his favorite vintages. He… has to ask. "Did your Aramis like this one?"

"Not that I know of. But then, when I was observing him drinking, he was always consuming rather execrable vintages with his brothers."

Captain de la Fère's Musketeers aren't destitute on Aramis's sphere, but neither are they particularly well-paid. This makes sense. Aramis takes another sip and studies Blood. "How *much* observation do you do?"

Blood smiles at _Apotheoses_ for a long moment. "You know, for the longest time — decades — it made me feel foul and low and positively disgusting to use my power to be… well, a busybody."

"But you changed your mind."

"There are only so many tragedies — *preventable* tragedies — one can witness before one breaks, or before one changes one's approach," Blood says, and raises an eyebrow.

"Flexibility."

"Just so."

"It didn't save your Aramis."

Blood takes a long drink of his wine. His eyes are distant for several moments. "I would never desire omniscience as a power, but I have, more than once, *desperately* desired consistent prophecy." Blood's mouth twists into something far too bitter to be called simply a frown.

And this… "Why didn't Treville introduce the two of you?"

Blood smiles. "Mon amant had many, many reasons why he felt he had to hide his witchcraft from his sons."

"Are you his dirty little secret?"

Blood laughs hard. "Treville is capable of many things, Aramis. Keeping a dirty little secret is not one of them."

"And yet —"

Blood raises a hand to stop Aramis. "He will tell you today precisely what went into his reasoning. He has already told most of the story to his remaining sons." And then Blood studies him for another moment. "How many of your assignments are protective in nature?"

Aramis doesn't fidget. He is not a child in need of a latrine. There is little he can do, however, about the colour rising to his cheeks — which is infuriating.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about —"

"I *know* that!"

Blood smiles at him. "Glad to hear it. Back to observation…?"

"You first did it to keep your loved ones safe. With every repetition it became easier, and perhaps more desirable. You began to see things — private things — that you had never seen before. This proved too irresistible. You developed a fixation." Aramis raises an eyebrow.

Blood smiles wider. "I would never deny being a voyeur, Aramis… but. It wasn't quite that."

"Then what?"

"*Looking* led inexorably to looking to other spheres. Looking to other spheres led inexorably to traveling to other spheres. Traveling to other spheres led inexorably to having my small, provincial, and, yes, hidebound mind rather thoroughly blown open. The knowledge at my fingertips — the knowledge which had always been there — was *completely* irresistible, and I became *hopelessly* fixated."

Aramis had prepared himself for jealousy.

Aramis had not prepared himself enough.

This…

"Aramis? Are you quite well?"

Aramis smiles wryly. "I want what you have, and you have no way to give it to me, and I have no way to take it. This is, I think you would agree, understandably frustrating."

The look Blood gives him for that is frankly appraising, but that's not all. There is a hunger beneath it, a longing, and that is… too much.

"Were there other chapters in the book you wished to test me on, M'sieu Blood?"

Blood closes his eyes for a moment, and, when he opens them, the hunger is gone. "Absolutely all of them, Aramis. But, for now, I think you might like to prepare to meet Athos and Porthos."

Aramis blinks. "They've arrived?"

"They're at the hostler's across the street. Where should I tell them you'll be waiting for them?"

Aramis has no intention of meeting his 'brothers' anywhere he must sleep. Additionally, keeping the library a reasonably calm place of study seems like a better idea than any of the alternatives. The rest of the house is neutral enough, but…

The study is comfortable. Perhaps it will inspire calm in these men.

"The study, please."

Blood inclines his head, and then seems to concentrate — but only for a moment. It occurs to Aramis that Blood had *allowed* him to see that. That…

"You were speaking with Treville before. While I was studying, I mean."

Blood smiles again. "Very good. We don't tend to leave each other alone very often. Not when we don't have to."

Aramis doesn't let himself think of his empty homes.


	8. Sharing the weight.

Porthos has no bloody idea what he's doing.

For one thing, he has no business walking into Treville's home like he belongs here. Athos, at least, is Treville's godson. Porthos is —

Porthos is not thinking about that.

Porthos *has* to think about that —

All of Treville's servants are looking at him like he *does* belong here, and Porthos wants to call that proof of how well-trained they are — he's *used* to this sort of thing from the servants in all sorts of manor houses across France — but…

This is different.

This is something…

Porthos has the creeping-bollocks sensation that all of these people *know* him, that they've *heard* of him somehow, that they *know*. Or…

If not that, if they *don't* know him, then they at least know *something*. And that's a ridiculous thought, because of course Treville would've warned his staff that they were coming.

Still, it feels like… more. Not *quite* like walking into a trap, but maybe like walking into the kind of gathering where you were the star attraction and nobody thought to tell you about that until you showed up. He's *sweating*—

He's sweating right through the shirt he's wearing under his tunic. This — isn't working. He turns to Treville, who is giving a man named Alaire last-minute instructions about the day.

Alaire has been almost restful compared to the other staff — it's obvious that he's a former soldier of one kind or another —

It would be obvious even without the terrifying burn scars on his face —

And all he'd done when Treville had introduced Porthos and Athos was nod correctly and give them a look like he wasn't entirely sure that they were fit to dress themselves in the mornings.

At this point, that kind of thing will always be right soothing from old soldiers. But Treville dismisses Alaire, and Porthos can —

"Sir…"

"Yes, son?"

"Uh… I'm going to need to talk to you about… things. Later, I mean," Porthos says, blushing like fire and feeling as though at least ten years had been shaved off his age while he wasn't paying attention.

Athos is giving him a worried look —

Porthos smiles at him ruefully — and Athos smiles back and nods. He's feeling the strangeness at least a little bit, too.

But Treville is gripping Porthos's shoulders and pushing him back towards the wall as though Porthos had said something *dire*.

"Sir —"

"Are you all *right*."

"Yes — sort of —"

Treville narrows his eyes —

They've barely made it out of the foyer —

"What *exactly* does that mean, son." And now Treville's looming over him — somehow —

Looming the way he always can —

"If *either* of you need to talk to me, then please don't hesitate. There's never enough time for that."

Porthos can see Athos shuddering out of the corner of his eye —

Porthos can see Aramis's hand *twitching*—

He squeezes his eyes shut —

"Son…" And Treville's voice is a lot softer. More gentle.

He'd seen that.

"I did, son. I think you already knew that images like that haunt you when you lose a loved one?"

"I — yeah. Yeah, I did."

Athos is searching them both —

Porthos scrubs a hand down over his face. "Believe me, brother, you don't want that image."

"I want to bear the weight with you," Athos says, low and serious. "I need to." And Athos is meeting Porthos's eyes steadily. Openly.

There's only one way to answer that. Porthos nods once and blows out a breath. "When I got to that playroom, one of Aramis's hands was still twitching. It — just that. I had to fight immediately — those bastards were everywhere —"

"Yes, I remember," Athos says, and his voice is shaking —

"It had stopped twitching by the time the fight was over, and I can't stop thinking —what if —"

Treville growls and all but *slams* Porthos up against the wall —

"Fuck —"

"*Don't* do that to yourself, son —"

"Sir —"

"Don't go down that road. It's not his hands you should be looking at in that memory, son. It's the blood."

Porthos flinches.

Treville winces and squeezes Porthos's shoulders. "I *apologize*, son. I would never do this to you if I didn't have to. But. Look at the blood in your memory —"

"Sir —"

"*Look* at it. Look how much of it there is —"

Porthos hears himself make a nauseated sound —

"It's soaking into his leathers, but there's still enough to leave a pool —"

"It was too late," Porthos says, and he doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice — except for how he does from all the other moments like this from his past.

"That's right, son. You couldn't have saved him. Neither of you could have."

"Sir…" Athos's voice is quiet, and kind of hungrily subdued.

Treville squeezes Porthos's shoulders again, and leaves his left hand gripping him before turning to Athos."I couldn't have saved him either, son. Not at that point."

"And… before that point?"

Treville winces and slumps, which is confusing and more than a little terrifying — the Captain should never look old —

But then Porthos remembers. "You could've bound us. All of us, the way you bound Athos's parents…"

"Yes," Treville says, and shakes his head once. "You're already bound, Porthos. The barriers between us were… practically nothing. But I might have bound Aramis and Athos…" And then Treville growls, releases Porthos, stalks across the foyer to Athos, and shoves up the sleeve of Athos's tunic. "Let me," he says, and his voice is a growl.

Athos doesn't hesitate, offering his arm to Treville without another word. Treville growls more — and suddenly his teeth are longer and sharper. A dog's teeth.

A healthy, *dangerous* dog's teeth. Treville doesn't wait to bite, and it doesn't look like a deep bite — as near as Porthos can tell, Treville is only breaking the skin enough to make Athos bleed -- 

And then he's licking the blood away. There's something…

There's something compelling about the sight of that. There's something Porthos feels like he needs to know about it, something deeper than the gross mechanics of it, something more than that Treville's tongue is lengthening and that Athos is shivering. There's something *here*, and Porthos can feel it —

And that's when Porthos realizes that he feels the magic of it, that he's feeling the binding happen in a way that he probably would only have barely noticed before Treville had pushed those barriers down between them.

He has even more questions now.

(Are you going to ask them?)

And Treville's voice in his head is calm, low, and *gently* leading. The Captain when he means to get every bit of information out of you, but knows that you're a mess.

(You're not a mess, son —)

"I really bloody am," Porthos says, and laughs, catching Athos's eye — and getting a wry smile in return.

He'd caught every bit of that.

They're connected now. They're *bound* now. Porthos can't help but thrill for that, but -- questions.

"Ask them," Treville says. "Ask them, *please*."

Porthos opens his mouth to say that he doesn't know where to begin, but…

"You do know where to begin, son?"

"What kept you from telling me about my past before, sir? What kept you from binding Athos and Aramis?"

Treville looks tired and old again, just that fast. "If you'd asked me that question three days ago, I would've had a list of reasons for you. Absolutely none of them make sense anymore. To Jason, none of them made sense at any point."

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Your lover wanted you to be honest with us?"

"He absolutely did, son. He pushed for it at every turn."

Porthos frowns. "What was *one* of the reasons why you didn't want to tell us? What *used* to make sense?"

Treville smiles at him ruefully. "It was… Jason helped me find you with the information we mined from the death-mage who murdered your mother. After I imprisoned the man in my rapier so he could scream there for as close to a thousand years as I could manage —"

"Uh…"

Athos is staring at the rapier in question —

Porthos is trying *not* to stare at the rapier —

"— I tried to go after you. I tried to *get* you," Treville says, and bares his teeth. "I could have pointed to where you were in the Court that day. That *moment*. And, with Jason's power and skill at glamour, I could've walked into the Court as a *man* to get you. I could've *talked* to you," Treville says, and looks wild.

"But… that didn't work?"

"We got close to the Court — Jason insisted on accompanying me — and our shared sense of you dissipated, just like the scent-trails all those years ago. I almost went mad." Treville gives himself a shake. "Madder. Jason was there, though, and kept me from losing my mind. We still had the pieces of the ragdoll we had used to scry the death-mage's — and your — location, and we ducked into an alley and expended a lot of force to summon you to me.

"It took all my willpower not to just stay right there and wait for you, but I knew it would be better if I at least looked reasonably sane."

"Right, but —"

"Wait, son. Just… wait a little longer," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. "We're almost to my god-awful reasoning."

Porthos frowns again, looks to Athos —

Athos is studying *him* —

Porthos nods to him, and they both turn back to Treville, who is watching both of them with pride and undisguised love. Porthos blushes.

So does Athos —

Treville nods and hums, looking at a memory. "Jason and I had put my name in Porthos's mind. We didn't know for certain whether or not logomancy had been included in the curses on Amina and Porthos, but we knew it wouldn't hurt to give Porthos an edge.

"It worked. It's… when you walked into my office, son, there was a moment when I couldn't see anything or anyone, at all. And then I felt a generation's worth of curses being broken.

"And then I saw you. I saw Amina all over you, and you were perfect and beautiful and strong and healthy and very obviously wondering why the hell the Captain of the King's Musketeers was staring at you like that."

"I thought… I was thinking my clothes were filthy, or that I had something on my face —"

"I could tell that you couldn't feel the curses breaking, son," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. "I —"

"That's why," Porthos says, and suddenly his heart is beating too fast. "That's why you didn't do it. That's why you didn't *say*."

Treville winces. "Yes."

"*Fuck*—"

"I believe I'm still a little bit lost," Athos says. "Why would you not being able to feel the curse breaking have any bearing on Treville's decision —"

"Because he decided to *protect* me. He decided to treat me like — like any other soldier. Like any other recruit meeting his Captain for the first time."

"*Why*?" And Athos is looking back and forth between them.

Treville smiles wryly. "It all seemed to make so much sense. The young man walking into my office didn't seem to be asking for twenty years' worth of magic and misery — as opposed to a life of honour. I could give him that —"

"And not a *family*?" Porthos is aware that he's yelling, but —

It's too much. There's too much loss.

Aramis's bloody *hand* —

Athos closes the distance between them and *yanks* Porthos into a hug. Porthos shudders and takes it, breathing harshly and trying to put his scrambled thoughts into some kind of order.

He needs Aramis.

He needs Aramis, because Aramis was always the one he went to first when his head needed to be screwed back on straight. Aramis could always take Porthos's most hardheaded and emotional moments and coax them into something like sense. Aramis…

Aramis was always damned good at explaining other people's madness to him. Porthos needs that right now.

"Do you, brother?"

"*What*?"

"We need Aramis — we *all* need Aramis — for countless reasons, brother. But I don't believe you need him for this reason."

"What are you bloody —"

"I believe you already understand this," Athos says quietly and firmly. "You've already said the words —"

"I — he was *protecting* me, yeah, but it makes no *sense* --"

"No, it was foolish, and short-sighted, and it has led — albeit indirectly — to tragedy. But." And Athos raises an eyebrow. "You understand it."

"I —" don't. Except…

How much about his own past had he just not shared with his brothers because he was protecting *them*? How many times had Athos and Aramis *both* told him to stop doing that?

And, of course, there had been all that time Athos spent protecting them from *his* past. It…

What had Aramis been protecting them from? Porthos already knows what he'd been protecting *Athos* from, but… there had to be more. Right?

The thought is a hollow place in his heart, a cold place where his brother should be but *isn't*. Not even in memory.

He feels that hollowness echoed in Athos.

He feels it echoed in Treville, as well. He shudders, squeezes Athos one more time, and then turns to face Treville again.

His father.

His mother's lover.

The *incredibly* violent man — the incredibly *mad* man — who had asked his current lover to find them another Aramis.

That Aramis is somewhere in this house, even as they're all standing here talking.

How long can they make the man wait?

"Son, don't do that."

"Don't do *what*?"

"Don't rush yourself. If you need more time to talk and get settled, then take it. Aramis will be here —"

"For two bloody weeks!"

"Son —"

"Sir, if I may," Athos says, and smiles wryly, "it's only that we both find it difficult to believe in an Aramis who is capable of waiting for long periods of time. Or… any periods of time, really."

Porthos coughs a laugh. "Bloody *that*!"

Treville looks like his heart hurts, and he's sharing a memory of dressing down an extremely chastened-looking Aramis for rushing his training. Except that it immediately becomes clear that it's more than one memory.

The wound Aramis has on his forehead at the beginning of the lecture migrates to his calf, and then to his side, and then to his foot — making it difficult for him to stand at attention while Treville tells him in no uncertain terms that he's been endangering his life and the lives of others.

Porthos doesn't remember hearing about these lectures. Porthos doesn't remember these lectures, at all —

"The last one was just before I took Aramis out from under the lieutenants and gave him to you boys to finish off his training," Treville says, sighing and just letting the tears roll down his cheeks. "I felt like an idiot for not doing it before — I knew from the very first day that, barring something very strange indeed, Aramis would be riding with you — but…"

"You were protecting him, too, sir…?" And Athos is raising that eyebrow again.

"I didn't trust his desire to be the best — and ride with the best. Not enough. I thought the wildness in him needed the greater discipline of the lieutenants. I spent so much time trying not to risk a promising recruit that I wound up risking a promising recruit over and over and over again," Treville says, and drags a hand down over his face. "Oh, boys. Have I managed to get you both to stop looking at me as the Captain yet?"

Porthos and Athos share a look —

Porthos wags his head —

Athos shrugs using only his facial muscles —

And Treville laughs softly. "I love you both so much. I always have. I always will."


	9. Have an Aramis. Mind the pointy bits.

Most of the time — when Aramis can stop himself — he does not pace. Pacing makes him feel like a caged beast, and, having *been* imprisoned during his lifetime…

Of course, he had not been able to pace then. It had been necessary to call on a cloak of piety, to kneel on the cold dirt floor of the dungeon and pray fervently. Not for deliverance, of course, but for forgiveness of his many, many sins.

Aramis curls his lip. He can't actually stop himself from doing that. The fact that he is alone now in this study is no excuse — he is in a house of powerful mages, and they could be watching at any time.

Aramis blanks his expression —

Considers —

Aramis schools his expression to calm.

Blood had left him a full twenty minutes ago. Before he'd left, he had assured Aramis that Treville would be introducing Porthos and Athos to Aramis before he would be introducing them to Blood, but…

Could the plans have changed?

Surely it makes more sense for them to meet Blood first —

He does not *pace*.

He forces himself to sit down on the couch.

He checks his weapons to soothe himself.

He remembers the expressions of shock, dismay, horror, and idiot disbelief on the faces of the many cruel and *stupid* priests when Aramis had finally been able to take his revenge.

He breathes.

He stands, retrieves the volume of poetry which had caught his eye last night, and takes it back to the couch with him. It is in excellent condition, but it is not pristine— Treville has read this one more than once. Aramis studies the binding on the book, and tries to discern which pages the book was opened to most often.

He is almost certain about a pastoral poem near the end of the volume with language that truly does bring to mind a particularly beautiful spring day in the countryside. The other pages he's not so certain about. There is a maudlin poem about the death of a young laborer's wife that has possibilities, but there is another pastoral poem on the next page which seems equally possible.

Treville definitely seems like the sort of man to gravitate toward sentimentality.

That whole sentence felt like a euphemism.

Aramis manages to repress the laugh that wants to come out of him — he's learned his lesson about laughing alone, and learned it far too many times — but he can't quite keep himself from smiling.

And that, of course, is the look on his face when the door finally opens, and an extremely large and beautiful man of colour walks in. And freezes just inside the doorway, staring. 

At Aramis, of course. Aramis lets his smile turn rueful and stands, setting the book down on the couch. He closes some of the distance between himself and the man who is almost certainly Porthos -- given what he has been told about Treville's sons by both Treville and Blood -- but still leaves some space between them. He offers his arm. "I am Aramis." 

A man makes a broken sound from behind the man of colour —

The man of colour looks at Aramis as though Aramis had just stabbed him —

Aramis does nothing to repress a wince —

And the man of colour growls, gives himself a rough shake, and walks further into the room, at last, gripping Aramis's arm and staring directly into his eyes. "Porthos."

Aramis thinks it would be worse if he said something about it being a pleasure to meet him. He inclines his head, instead, and turns to the other man walking through the door.

This man is a much more reasonable size, pale and handsome with bleak blue eyes. A more neatly-barbered beard and moustache would, Aramis thinks, suit his looks better, but overall…

A part of Aramis is wondering if Treville picks his children based on physical appearance.

And Porthos hasn't released Aramis's arm, yet.

Aramis looks to Porthos — and finds his dark eyes wide, and more than a little wild. Porthos is studying him, looking him over again and again, taking in every detail of his appearance —

Or is he?

How *much* is he looking for the dead Aramis in this moment? How much should Aramis *let* Porthos do that?

He covers the big, powerful hand on his arm with his other hand. He does this lightly, gently. He will not be demanding — not yet.

Porthos gives him another one of those wounded looks and shudders.

"Porthos —"

"You — fuck. I have to — *fuck* —" Porthos releases him and backs away, *turns* away —

Athos looks to Porthos with narrowed eyes for a long moment, and then turns back to Aramis with a rueful smile of his own. They clasp forearms — "I'm Athos, as you have no doubt guessed."

Aramis inclines his head again, and Athos releases him smoothly — though not without a burning look. He then goes to Porthos's side, and the two of them grip each other silently for long moments with their backs turned to Aramis.

Aramis… should absolutely not be thinking about the number of methods he has to punish people for turning their backs on him.

This is not that sort of assignment.

He's increasingly unsure what sort of assignment it *is*— but it's not that kind.

He waits, folding his hands together to keep them from creeping any closer to his weapons —

And Porthos turns abruptly. "Why do you suddenly feel like a threat?"

Aramis blinks —

Athos is staring at Porthos —

And Porthos is frowning, studying Aramis again, this time obviously focusing on Aramis's body language. And then he takes a deep breath, and nods as if Aramis has told him something deep and inescapably true.

It makes the skin on the back of Aramis's neck crawl —

"You don't use guns," Porthos says. "For your… missions."

Aramis blinks again, but… this is a question he can answer. "Guns are beautiful and useful, Porthos, but they tend to make too much noise," Aramis says, and spreads his hands. "The many varieties of blade in the world are much better. As a general rule."

Porthos nods —

"And your magic?" And Athos is raising an eyebrow at him — and still resting one hand on Porthos's upper arm.

Is this what you want to speak about — no. *Let* them focus on the differences. "Sometimes, yes, Athos, but…" Aramis smiles. "Again, as a general rule, I like to conserve my magic for use when it is the only weapon which is of *any* use."

Athos raises his eyebrow higher. "Yes?"

Aramis opens his mouth —

"Magic can be drained, brother," Porthos says, and never looks away from Aramis. "You don't want to use it up before you really need it."

"Understood."

"Why are you threatening us, Aramis…?" And Porthos's eyes…

There is a part of Aramis which is certain — certain to the very core of himself — that Porthos's eyes are this cold only rarely. That they are not meant to be this cold. That they *should* not be this cold —

"Will you answer?" Athos's eyes wear chill much more naturally.

And, abruptly, this meeting has become a trifle dangerous. It's not that Aramis doubts his ability to hold his own against these men, but…

This isn't that sort of assignment.

He takes a breath of his own, smiles ruefully, and spreads his hands again. "I have a limited number of responses to people turning their backs on me."

Porthos *and* Athos blink at him —

They share a look —

And then they smile with rueful pain.

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "Share the… joke?"

Athos huffs something which may or may not be supposed to represent a laugh. "We never, ever turned our backs on our Aramis."

Aramis blinks —

Porthos laughs — it's a broad sound, heavy-chested and full of life. "He was even just as likely to start reaching for his knives —"

"As opposed to his guns —"

"— if we did," Porthos says, and laughs more. "Go on, tell us — how many knives are *you* carrying right now? Our Aramis restrained himself once he got his arquebusier, but before that…"

Aramis blinks more. Both Athos and Porthos are smiling at him now, smiling as if acting in a threatening way toward people you had only just met was somehow…

But that's not it. Just now, he has lived up to their expectations as to what an Aramis should be with his violence, and even with the particular style of his violence. He…

"Aramis? Are you quite all right?" And Athos is studying him closely —

Porthos is moving closer again —

There is no reason whatsoever why Aramis should want to escape at this point. Everything is going well — better than could be expected. A part of him still wants to bolt.

"Aramis…?" And Porthos's voice is soft. "I don't think any of us have put enough thought into how weird this must be for you…"

Aramis blinks rapidly —

Only barely manages to keep himself from stepping *back* —

And has just enough time to wonder if that was a good choice before Porthos's big hands are on his shoulders and the man himself is looking down into Aramis's eyes from — very close.

"Porthos —"

"We don't know anything about Jason Blood but what Treville told us about the man *today*, but we do know Treville, and we know Treville can bloody run you over and make you thank him for the privilege while you're still picking yourself up out of the wheel ruts," Porthos says, and raises both of his eyebrows. "Does that sound familiar?"

Aramis stares.

Porthos raises his eyebrows higher.

Aramis looks to Athos —

Athos's eyebrow is up, too.

Aramis licks his lips and turns back to Porthos. "You're trying to make this easier for me…"

"Well… Yes?"

Aramis smiles wryly. "Forgive me, both of you, but I believe that is my assignment."

Both Porthos and Athos frown thunderously —

"Is that what they said to you?" And Porthos squeezes Aramis's shoulders. Not painfully, but firmly. Aramis is quite sure that Porthos has spent a great deal of time learning his strength and how to wield it against others. But — 

"No."

"No…?" And, when Athos moves a step closer, Aramis can see how well he and Porthos work together for interrogations. But this…

This doubt that they have in Blood — and in Treville — can be exploited. He can strengthen it, sow discord, and so better —

This. Is not. His assignment. Aramis reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then he breathes.

This is a gesture he only allows himself from time to time, as it speaks — loudly — of a profound loss of control.

He's reasonably sure he's earned it this time, though.

"Aramis… Please talk to us." And now Porthos's voice is almost *frighteningly* soft.

"If you're here against your will —"

"Treville will listen to —"

"I am not here against my will," Aramis says, and drops his hand. And meets Porthos's and Athos's gazes steadily. "Neither your father nor M'sieu Blood gave me an assignment with regards to the two of you. I misspoke," Aramis says firmly, and raises his own eyebrow.

Porthos frowns. "How do you —" he cuts himself off. "I apologize, that's none of my business."

Aramis *looks* at Porthos — no. Porthos hasn't truly been asking countless personal questions. Porthos hasn't had time to do that. The fact that he's pulling himself back now is thus merely polite.

The fact that Aramis doesn't want that… is a problem —

"Perhaps… you think of more aspects of your life as assignments than you don't?" And Athos is studying him again. That's better —

"*Athos*—"

"No — I do not mind that question," Aramis says quickly. And then he has to quickly think about whether or not he's going to answer Athos's question honestly —

And then he has to stop thinking about that, because he does not think Porthos is an experienced earth-mage, but he is still *an* earth-mage, and that means that in order to lie to him… Aramis would have to use enough power of his own to undoubtedly alert both Blood and Treville. Aramis swallows a wince.

"Are you quite sure you don't mind the question? I could rescind it."

Aramis… smiles ruefully. "Most everything is an assignment for me, yes. Everything involving… intense interaction with other people."

Porthos squeezes his shoulders again, and this time it is almost painful.

Athos's expression has a raw sort of quiet anguish.

"Aramis… you shouldn't be alone," Porthos says, and his voice is low and hurt.

It's too much. It's…

It's not exactly what Aramis had feared with these men — it's stranger than that — but it's still too much.

He tugs himself out of Porthos's grip —

"Aramis —"

"I…" Aramis holds up a hand, and smiles ruefully again. "Please. All is well… or as well as can be expected —"

Athos and Porthos are frowning at him direfully, and…

Aramis's smile feels brittle on his face. "I rather prefer to be alone."

Athos and Porthos share a look —

A *long* look —

And then Porthos is frowning at him again. "Is that true?"

For a moment, all Aramis can think about are the many different ways he punishes people who call him a liar.

Athos and Porthos smile ruefully. "We didn't tend to call our Aramis a liar, either," Athos says, and hums.

"He was a violent man to be so religious," Aramis says, before he can stop himself. "I mean —"

"No, no, don't stop yourself," Porthos says, and smiles wider, making a pushing motion at the air.

"Yes, please, talk to us," Athos says —

"Especially about this," Porthos says, and laughs, open and a kind of free.

Athos is smiling. "Our Aramis would be the first to tell you that he was…hm. A most egregious sinner, in need of a great deal of prayer."

"Exactly —"

"And yet he was not a hypocrite?" And Aramis can't quite keep himself from frowning.

"Never that," Athos says.

"Right, no. He never used his faith to lord it over anyone. He never treated anyone like shit on his shoes for not following the bible the way he thought it should be followed —"

"Well —"

"Except for the arseholes," Porthos says, and snorts.

"Except for those, yes," Athos says, and huffs.

"But do you like to be alone?" And Porthos frowns at him. "I *don't* mean to call you a liar, mate —"

"But you will anyway?"

"Not that, but… I felt something when you said that. When you said that you would rather be alone."

Whatever expression is on Aramis's face — and he is kicking himself for not being certain of that — curdles.

"But we can change the subject —"

"Yes, we can," Athos says, licking his lips —

"Do you have any questions for us?" And Porthos's eyes are wide, and full, and worried — for Aramis.

Aramis can't not know that.

Aramis can't not *think* about that — no. That is *definitely* not his assignment. So.

Change approach. "Your Aramis… was always surrounded by people?"

Both Porthos and Athos look somewhat relieved by the question, and Athos nods. "When he wasn't training with us, or on missions with us, or drinking with us —"

"Or whoring with us," Porthos says, and winks.

"Whoring with *you*, you mean," Athos says, with a touch of put-upon asperity —

"We lived in hope that you would join us one day," Porthos says —

"Optimists," Athos says, with ripe derision — and he's looking directly into Aramis's eyes.

The invitation is obvious.

The fact that Aramis wants to take it is yet another problem.

Athos hums and turns back to Porthos without seeming to notice Aramis's hesitation. "There were his other nights, of course."

"Oh, of course."

"It *could* be said that Aramis had a certain insatiable curiosity about the fairer sex," Athos says.

Porthos stares at Athos. "That is the nicest way of putting it I've ever heard." He turns back to Aramis. "The man couldn't keep it in his trousers. At all. *Ever*."

He managed with you, Aramis doesn't say, for many reasons — not least because it would be disingenuous. The burgeoning picture he has of their Aramis is of a man running away from what he wanted — while throwing himself at it the rest of the time.

He nods thoughtfully instead of saying anything cruel or incriminating.

"Is there anything else we can tell you?" And there is eagerness in Athos's voice.

There is danger here — if he isn't careful. But he is a very careful man, and he *does* have an assignment, even if he isn't sure what it is.

Aramis gestures them to the chairs and couches, and, once they're seated…

"Perhaps you can tell me how it is that your Aramis came to be a Musketeer."


	10. Did I not *tell* you to mind the pointy bits?

It's strange beyond belief seeing Aramis — any Aramis — in the clothes of a courtier, as opposed to the clothes of a soldier. It's not that Porthos doubted Aramis's ability to carry off looking like nobility — when you're a King's man, you have to learn how to put on airs, no matter where you started in life.

Aramis had learned how to do that sort of thing long before — Porthos could tell by all the ways he did and didn't relax when they were sent to the palaces — and, eventually, Aramis had told him about the brothel in his past.

About his mother.

About all the work she'd put into training him and teaching him and generally raising him to be the sort of person who could be comfortable in as many different kinds of environments as *possible*. He…

("Did she want you to be, you know, a courtesan?"

"I was never entirely sure of this thing,") Aramis had said, and smiled wryly at him from across their small table. They'd still been in a teahouse that night — waiting for Athos to finish washing up after training himself as excessively as usual.

("No?"

"No. Mother said — often and vigorously! — that she wanted me to use my mind to become a natural philosopher. That she wanted me to spend my time in contemplation and study and experimentation.")

Porthos had *looked* at Aramis.

Aramis had laughed — ("Yes, precisely — and she knew me just as well as you do, my friend —"

"Yeah? Because it doesn't sound like —"

"Remember, my friend, we are talking about a woman who saw my every trick, my every plot, my every *plan* before I did. I could *never* get around her.")

Porthos had nodded judiciously. ("Then you think she was just… hoping?")

Aramis had smiled and spread his hands. ("She was always very clear about her desires, but rarely so clear about her hopes. I believe she saw that kind of thing as a kind of weakness.")

Porthos had winced —

("I believe my mother prepared me for the life that she thought would serve me best in this hard, cruel world… but made sure that I knew that there was more for me. More possibilities."

"A wider world.")

Aramis had inclined his head. ("Just so, my friend,") he'd said, and then looked distant in a way Porthos believed he could read.

("I think she could see the good — she could've seen the good — in who you've become, mate.")

Aramis had given him a long look for that, steady and more than a little hungry.

But he hadn't said anything by the time Athos had come to join them, and then he'd changed the subject to where they were going to drink that night. Here, now…

Porthos and Athos are sitting in the comfortable chairs across from the armless couch that Aramis had taken for himself. There is a book of poetry next to Aramis, and Porthos wants to ask him if he likes it, if he thinks their Aramis would've liked it —

Porthos knows he's making this awkward. He's been sitting here, silent and lost in his memories for fuck only knows how long, and — no.

He's not going to do this. Aramis had asked a question, and the only reason Athos isn't answering it is because he knows Porthos is hurting.

His hand is on Porthos's arm, squeezing firmly. He's not *looking* at Porthos, but that's because he's Athos, and Aramis is still a threat as far as he's concerned. He's not going to take his eyes off him.

Porthos has to do better. Right now.

He looks up, clears his throat. "The first thing you should know, Aramis, is that we're both reasonably sure that we didn't get the whole story from our Aramis."

"Precisely," Athos says, and squeezes Porthos's arm again.

Porthos smiles at Athos ruefully and nods.

Athos nods back — he knows Porthos is right enough for now.

Aramis clears his throat lightly.

They both look to him — of course they bloody do —

And Aramis gives *them* a wry smile. "I believe you can both guess just how much familiarity I have with my own… questionable honesty…?"

Porthos snorts. "Right, then. Maybe you can fill in the blanks for us, eh?"

"No promises," Aramis says — and then immediately looks somewhat horrified.

And, really, he has reason for that, but it's just so familiar —

Just so sweet to tease —

Athos is squeezing his arm again, which, at this point, Porthos suspects means that *he* is looking at Aramis hungrily.

*Aramis* is looking away — just a little.

Porthos is making this awkward again. He clears *his* throat, and says, "After his father stole him away from his mother, and the brothel he was raised in —" And then Porthos stops, because Aramis is looking at him.

*Staring* at him.

He doesn't look angry, and he doesn't look shocked, but…

Or, no, there is a kind of shock under the blank expression covering everything else. Something about what Porthos said — or how he said it? — was unexpected.

"Aramis? Do you need me to —"

"Please continue," Aramis says almost brusquely. "I mean… please." And then he very obviously wrenches his expression to something friendlier.

"Right, all right," Porthos says, licking his lips. "His father took him to a little village near the Spanish border. He hated it there, except for —"

"The hunting, the riding, and the soldiers riding through?" And Aramis raises an eyebrow.

Athos shivers.

Porthos isn't doing much better. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that. Do you…" But Porthos doesn't know what he wants to ask, or even how he wants to finish that sentence. "Should I go on?"

Aramis's smile is rueful. "Please do. I do not know how you get from here to the Musketeers."

"Right you are," Porthos says. "This is the part we're a little hazy on. Aramis told us one night that there'd been a girl who'd been his closest friend in that village, and that, over time, she'd become more than that…" And Porthos raises his eyebrows, hoping that Aramis will jump in.

Aramis is frowning, though, and his confusion is clear.

So much for that. "Anyway, the pretty much inevitable happened, and the girl got pregnant —"

"And your Aramis did not marry her?" And Aramis sounds scandalized and this close to enraged.

"He wanted to," Athos says —

"And we can tell that he really meant that," Porthos says —

"But something went wrong. Something… terrible happened," Athos says, and frowns. "He wouldn't tell us what."

Aramis frowns.

"What he did tell us," Porthos says, "is that his father packed him off to seminary the first chance he got —"

"Where he was even more miserable. And — it was clear — grieving."

Aramis inhales sharply — and nods. "He stayed in seminary until he recovered from his grief enough to remember that he belonged somewhere else."

Porthos looks to Athos —

Athos smiles ruefully. "That's very close to what I always assumed."

Porthos turns back to Aramis. "Yeah, me, too."

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "'Close'?"

Porthos looks at Aramis hard. "Our Aramis took a lot of punishment in those Church schools. From his father, yeah — but mostly from those sodding priests."

"We believe," Athos says, "that Aramis stayed in seminary long enough to suffer more punishments than he necessarily had to." And he raises his own eyebrow.

Aramis jerks his head back — and then takes a breath. "Did your Aramis punish himself in other ways?"

"Yeah, he did," Porthos says, and shakes his head. "Most of those ways are good, at this point, though."

"Yes, most," Athos says. "He came straight to Paris from seminary. He found what work he could, and, when that wasn't enough money to pay someone to teach him the sword, he whored himself to a fencing master."

Aramis stiffens — but only for a moment.

Porthos decides not to call attention to it. "He knew exactly what he wanted, Aramis — and that was to become a Musketeer. Still — and you probably know this — he made a mistake with the fencing master."

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "Whoring himself…?"

Porthos frowns. "No, mate. Getting himself all educated in how to fence for points, as opposed to —"

"Learning from an actual soldier, yes, I see," Aramis says, frowning and turning away again. "Forgive me."

"Are you all right?"

Aramis bares his teeth —

"Right, we're changing the subject —"

"Treville already told me," Aramis says, in a ruthlessly even voice, "that none of you find reason for shame in whoring."

Athos blinks —

Porthos frowns. "Do you?"

"I am not ashamed of myself, no," Aramis says, and *then* turns back to face them. "I have, however, grown accustomed to facing the shame of others."

Porthos growls —

Athos leans in toward Aramis. "Aramis, my parents taught me many lessons before they died, but I have always felt that one of the most important lessons was that the shame of others is dross when held up against the respect of your true peers."

Aramis cocks his head to the side. "And who are they?"

And then there's a painfully hilarious moment when Athos and Porthos are looking at Aramis with horrified sympathy — and Aramis is recoiling like a skittish cat.

Athos licks his lips. "Perhaps you can tell us something about the Musketeers on your sphere."

Aramis stares at them for another long moment — and then coughs a laugh. "I… am not certain that I should."

"Why is that?" And Athos is still leaning in.

Aramis pinches the bridge of his nose — a quirk that makes him look about fifteen years older than he is. "I asked Treville and M'sieu Blood about both of you last night…" He drops his hand and looks at Athos. "Your father is still the Captain of of the King's Musketeers on my sphere. Having met you, I see the resemblance."

Athos blanches —

Porthos grips *his* arm —

Aramis smiles ruefully. "Perhaps a new topic would be —"

"What." Athos's voice is so *hoarse* — "What do you know of my father's family."

Porthos squeezes Athos's arm tighter — "Brother, are you sure —"

"Yes."

Aramis looks to both of them for a long moment… And then nods. "He has no family."

Athos looks like he's been bloody gutted —

Porthos can't blame him —

"When. When you say he has no family…"

"He never married." Aramis takes a *deep* breath, and seems to be making a decision. "I pay a great deal of attention to the Musketeers on my sphere. When I was a boy, I wanted to be one," he says and doesn't quite look at either of them. "I am given to understand that the man who would've been your father had any number of choices among the nobility in terms of making a marriage —"

"They always said…" Athos licks his lips and leans back against the chair. "Both of my parents always said that it was Treville who brought them together. That it was Treville who overcame my father's resistance to marriage…" Athos's frown is wounded. "They must be so lonely without each other."

"Fuck, brother…"

Aramis winces. "Perhaps… Who is your mother, Athos?"

Athos blinks. "Do you mean to find her when you go back to your sphere?"

Aramis makes a small, complicated gesture with his right hand. "I am a man who makes many things happen in the shadows, Athos. They are not always violent."

This time, it's Athos staring at Aramis hungrily — and Porthos can't blame him for that, either. Their Aramis would make the exact same offer this Aramis is making, though he'd use different words, and he'd be different about it in other ways.

This…

There's colour in Aramis's cheeks now, and he looks like he wishes the couch had arms, so that he would have something to do with his hands. He --

Athos pants. "I can't ask you for this."

"Because you don't know me?" And Aramis pulls on a smile. "I think we have proven —"

"Don't do that," Porthos says. "Please. I — please. We can't…" He shakes his head.

Aramis firms his mouth into a hard line, and it just makes it obvious that everything about how he *looks* is the same.

*That* expression means that Aramis is about to berate himself, somewhere down deep, for a failure that may or may not have even existed.

That expression means that it's time to take Aramis aside, to wrap an arm around his shoulders, to make him laugh, to get him drunk, to maybe get him drunk enough to talk about something that was wrong at *some* point — if not the thing that had upset him right *then*.

But, of course, it doesn't mean any of those things.

All it means is that they're both staring hungrily at Aramis now, and —

Fuck.

Athos takes a deep, shuddering breath. "My mother is Marie-Angelique Leandres. I… I don't want you to endanger yourself in any way, or to even inconvenience yourself."

Aramis raises an eyebrow — and lowers it immediately. "You meant that."

"Yes," Athos says. "This is not something I can ask for —"

Aramis opens his mouth —

"Even if you say I can," Athos says, and smiles wryly. "I believe we can agree that some things go beyond mere… favours."

"Athos, I am in the business of banking very large favours, indeed," Aramis says, but the smile on his face is small, and quiet, and… real.

"Bank this favour with us," Porthos says, leaning over his spread knees and folding his hands together. "How did you wind up becoming an assassin?"

Aramis stiffens.

"We truly would like to know," Athos says.

Aramis studies them both for long moments, but even that…

Porthos remembers —*very* well — the days when Aramis wouldn't even let them see him *thinking*. This is warmer.

This is *better*, and Porthos doesn't think he's just telling himself that. There's something here they can have. He doesn't know what it is, but he's going to find out.

"You obviously don't have to tell us, mate, but —"

"But what?"

Porthos cocks his own head to the side. "Have you gotten the chance to tell the story to anyone?"

Aramis blinks.

Aramis blinks rapidly —

Aramis stops that and frowns — "Why would this matter?"

Porthos shares another look with Athos —

"And the two of you must know how infuriating that is —"

Porthos opens his hands and pushes at the air. "Sorry, mate, sorry. I think you know that we're used to sharing those looks with our Aramis."

"He's not —" Aramis's growl is short and vicious and cut off before it goes much of anywhere. "The two of you believe I said something very telling a moment ago."

Porthos resists the urge to look to Athos again with every fibre of his *being* --

"Yes," Athos says quietly. "We do."

"What is this?"

And that… "How honest do you want us to be?" And Porthos meets Aramis's gaze dead-on.

"Completely," Aramis says, without a moment's hesitation.

That's only as it should be. Porthos nods. "You've been alone too long. You've been alone for so long that you've forgotten how to feel as hurt about it as you do feel. You've forgotten where all your wounds are. You're… vulnerable."

Aramis lifts his chin slowly. "I believe that *you* have come to believe that we know each other better than we do, sir."

Porthos winces —

Athos leans forward. "Aramis, you need not —"

Aramis stands. "I believe we are done for the day," he says, and walks out.

Porthos —

Porthos doesn't have any strength in his legs.

Porthos is reasonably sure all of his strength is in his right arm — the arm Athos is gripping again. This… "Fuck, brother, I'm —"

"Don't apologize."

"Why *not*?"

And Athos smiles at him almost wildly. "Because he strongly implied that he would give us another chance."


	11. School! Now with slightly less problematic seduction! Slightly.

Jason sighs luxuriantly.

Treville blinks and looks up from the scrying-bowl.

Jason has his feet up on Treville's desk and is weaving shadows into a representation of Porthos's face, just as if catastrophe isn't happening in another part of the house.

"Catastrophe isn't happening, amant."

Treville scowls, but — "We did know this one was… prickly."

"*Oh*, yes. Additionally, your Athos has the right of it. The two of them have done an excellent job of seducing Aramis."

Treville has no idea why he's blushing, but he is, and that's infuriating.

"You're blushing because most of you has very high-minded ideals about this project. Fuck only knows why."

Treville gives up. "Why the shadow portrait?"

"I didn't often give myself time to observe your Porthos. I'd forgotten how brutal his honesty could be," Jason says with relish.

And now Treville is sighing. "They're all perfect."

"How I ever got tied to such a family man I'll never know," Jason says, waspishly.

"It might have involved my knot."

"Hmph. Arse."

Treville grins. "Yours. How long are we giving Aramis to cool down?"

Jason gestures, banishing the portrait, and then gestures at the big mirror on the other side of the room. 

Treville remembers overhearing all *sorts* of comments about the number of mirrors he'd moved into his homes when he'd started seeing Jason -- 

The winking speculation about 'the British gentleman' turning 'the Master' into a dandy -- 

Jason splutters and flubs his next gesture, and suddenly the mirror is looking out on a grim, bloody, steaming, and offal-strewn battlefield which looks to have been only recently abandoned by the living. The crows -- or whatever scavengers that sphere has -- haven't come. 

Treville raises an eyebrow and turns to Jason. "Hungry?" 

"*Arse*." 

"It's a valid question --" 

"I -- hm." 

"Yes?" 

"Give me just a few moments," Jason says, standing and arming and armoring himself -- 

"Of course," Treville says. "I'll just watch my sons fret while you feed on all that tasty violence and not-*quite*-death." 

"Do pay *especial* attention to how much Aramis is... unraveling." 

"I -- really? And we're *not* smoothing his feathers?" 

"We *are*, amant. But not quite yet," Jason says, showing his teeth and stepping through. 

He's not visible on the battlefield as anything but a *feeling* Treville has of his presence -- he's glamouring himself for caution, the way he always does on a new sphere -- and...

Treville doesn't sense any alarm, any worry, any *strain*... 

He's well enough. 

Treville focuses on the bowl of spirit-mage blood and does the pass that will allow him to see -- Aramis. 

The *wrong* Aramis, but -- 

Not so wrong as all that. 

A great deal of the memories were the same, and so was the urge to bristle when left out, the urge to tease when provoked in just the right ways... 

The *need* to *protect* -- and, yes, protect himself, as well. 

Aramis doesn't know, yet, that he doesn't need to protect himself from them.

Aramis doesn't know that he can have a home here. 

A *place*. 

Treville shivers and -- aches. 

There's a unique guilt for this moment -- for watching a living Aramis pacing the library of *his* home, for watching a living Aramis growling and gesturing -- 

Touching the books -- 

Snarling -- 

For watching a living Aramis *making* Treville's library his own -- even if it's only his own gaol -- when the Aramis Treville should have been honest with... 

It hurts. 

It hurts, and it's dangerous, and it's -- quite possibly -- wrong. 

He may be asking too much from the spheres for this -- though he's reasonably sure Jason would tell him if he were, whether or not Jason would help him do it *anyway*. 

Jason is his brother. 

"*Oh*, yes, amant," he says, and steps back through the mirror, thrumming with so much *dark* power that the dog in Treville twitches Treville's ears.

Treville gives himself a shake and snorts -- 

"Oh -- apologies --" 

"No, I -- how long had it been since you'd *eaten* properly?" 

Jason gives him a sheepish look. "I've... been busy?" 

Treville looks at him. 

Jason coughs. "Yes, well. I'm fed *now*. How's our sort-of prodigal?" 

"Thinking of stabbing you for making that reference, I'd wager." 

Another luxuriant sigh. "You'll forgive me for being *unseemly*," Jason says, tamping down his blood-magic behind a very specific sort of glamour and sitting beside him. 

"Forgiven. Of *course* you can't resist a non-religious Aramis." 

"I rather feel like a cat with *cream* --" 

"What sort of cream is that, lover...?"

Jason *looks* at him. 

Treville grins and winks. 

"How do *you* feel about his lack of religious devotion, amant...?" 

That. Treville blinks. "What?" 

Jason crosses his long legs and looks at him *hard*. "How do you *feel* --"

"I heard you the first time, lover, I just don't -- you already *know* how I feel about --" 

"I know how you feel about your own relative lack of religious devotion, amant -- and I know how much trouble it gets you into with the All-Mother --" 

"That's *right* --" 

"What I do *not* know... is how you feel about this Aramis's lack of religious devotion." 

"I --" 

"This Aramis's... *profound* lack of similarity to your own." 

Treville grunts. 

Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"Well, that hit." 

"It was meant to, and I apologize." 

Treville sighs and drags a hand down over his face. "Apology accepted. I had to think about that." 

"Yes." 

"It would catch me up -- I'd wind up treating him like the other Aramis... fuck." 

"I... have a somewhat unique position, here." 

"You knew him, but never --" Treville growls and leans back in his chair. He's not weeping, yet -- the guilt is too sharp for that -- but... 

"Amant, don't --" 

"You told me countless times to be *honest*, Jason --" 

"But I never slashed your reasoning for *not* being honest to ribbons. I might have done that." 

Treville blinks -- and *looks* at Jason. 

Jason looks back somewhat blandly. 

"You were being *gentle* with me?" 

"It's a terrible habit --" 

"Yes, it bloody -- *fuck*. We're all gentle with the people we love." 

Jason smiles ruefully. 

"We have to stop that immediately." 

"You're doing well, amant." 

"So are *you*." 

Jason spreads his hands. 

"No, we should *not* rest on our laurels and --" 

"Stop berating ourselves? Do something... useful?" 

Treville opens his mouth -- 

Treville *closes* his mouth -- 

"Why do you put up with me?" 

"It might have something to do with your knot." 

Treville nods judiciously and strokes his beard. "It's a goodly knot." 

"Oh, and true, yes." 

"It's plugged many a fine arse over the years --" 

"And just a *few* cunts, yes." 

Treville sighs. 

Jason gives Treville's crotch a loving pat. 

"Thank you *very* much for that." 

"You're quite --" 

"I..." 

"Mm?" 

"Don't let me forget. Don't let me -- fall into him." 

"I won't let you fall into him the wrong *way* --" 

"Jason --" 

"And, in truth? I believe we both know that you would stop yourself before you truly hurt him -- or either of your other sons." 

"I don't want to hurt them, at *all*, damnit --" 

"Ah, well..." And Jason smiles wryly. "Do let me know when you've picked up *that* magery." 

"Fuck. Right," Treville says, and stands. "Let's go soothe Aramis." 

"Absolutely. Have you decided how you're going to do that?" 

"Hm. No? No." 

Jason snorts, and stands, as well. "Liar. You're going to be gentle and coaxing *while* being blisteringly honest so that he can't help but fall at your feet." 

"Actually..." 

"*No*?" 

Treville leads them to the door of his sitting room. "I was thinking he might have had his fill of that with Porthos --" 

"*Amant*." 

"You're absolutely right. He's an Aramis; he's just as likely to get his fill of that as he is to sprout wings and fly off." 

"Yes, *do* recall whom we're speaking about." 

"Right, right. Athos and Porthos are...?" 

Jason opens a small portal on his hand and studies for a moment -- he closes his fist. "Drinking your excellent brandy and sharing memories." 

"Strategizing *subtly*." 

"Just so, amant." 

Treville nods in approval and heads down the stairs, Jason at his side. 

Justine, one of the chambermaids, is coming up with fresh unscented soaps and linens for all the bedrooms. Treville tips the hat he isn't wearing -- 

Jason bows with a flourish -- 

And Justine giggles, sticks her tongue out, and *runs* up the stairs, flashing her strong ankles all the way. 

"You know..." And Jason's expression is *bemused*. 

"Mm?" 

"I do believe your staff likes me *better* when I've been doing the equivalent of rolling around in piles of eldritch filth." 

Treville *coughs* -- 

"I'm being *serious* --" 

"I *know* you are, and. I..." 

"You see it, don't you?" 

Treville licks his lips and stares a bit. 

"You *do*." 

"I do, yes, lover. I... I think they like it that I'm not *alone*." 

"Well, obviously -- ah. That you're not alone in your *eldritch* activities. Well. That does make a *kind* of sense." 

"Two witches are better than one?" 

"Well, let's hope they feel the same about *four*," Jason says, and leads them down the hall to the library. 

They quiet themselves, more out of politeness than anything else -- 

Aramis is going to *feel* them coming -- 

Aramis is going to feel them coming and *snarl* more -- probably at himself. 

Treville walks faster. 

Jason paces him -- 

And they're there. Aramis has left his jangled scents all over the place, but they're concentrated just... there. Treville follows his nose and finds Aramis striking a casually calm pose -- half-sitting, half-leaning -- against one of the tables Treville had put in for studying. 

(It *isn't* the one we were studying at before, amant.) 

No, I imagine not. "Aramis... will you sit with us?" 

Aramis looks up at both of them, narrowing his eyes just a little. "Will we study?" There isn't *quite* a hopeful tone to his voice, but... 

There's a certain *true* relaxation. 

Treville smiles. "If you'd like. I thought we might speak a little first --" 

"We have nothing to speak about --" 

"We all know that isn't true, Aramis," Jason says, quiet and firm. 

Aramis curls his lip --

Starts to stand -- stops and leans back against the table again. "I will *not* break our bargain." 

"We didn't think you would," Treville says, and raises his hands. "I promise." 

"I." 

"We promise," Jason says, and they're both leaving themselves open -- 

Aramis doesn't seem to bother with examining them, though. The *fact* that they're leaving themselves open seems to be enough for now. "What did you think." 

"That you could use some settling after that conversation," Treville says. 

Another lip-curl. "You were watching again." 

"Of course," Jason says. "You know precisely how much interest we have in... all of this." 

Aramis lifts his chin -- stops that immediately. He breathes. 

He breathes more -- 

And then he sits, in a *chair*, and gestures smoothly to the other side of the table. 

"Thank you, Aramis," Treville says, and takes the chair on the right. 

Jason takes the other. "Yes, thank you very --" 

"You are more powerful than you were, M'sieu Blood. Why is this? How is this?" 

Treville remembers not to share a look with Jason -- 

And Jason smiles and leans back in his chair. "Something mon amant said while we were discussing *you* reminded my *power* of how hungry it was." 

Aramis blinks -- "Your..." 

"These things happen when you... hm. *Juggle* different sorts of magery. Well, they happen to *some* mages. My *blood*-magery rather demanded a renewal. Mon amant would not *let* me deny myself." 

"Damned right." 

This time, Aramis *does* study them both -- obviously enough that it's clear that he's being polite -- but only for a moment. "Did you take sustenance from the servants?" 

"Oh, no. I left the sphere and journeyed to a -- recent -- battlefield. There I feasted." 

"But..." Aramis frowns. "The spilled blood in such places has been given to the *earth*. It was always my understanding that it belonged to the All-Mother." 

Jason is grinning rapaciously next to Treville. "I don't suppose you're any more interested in sharing who trained you and where...?" 

Aramis's frown is black as pitch. 

Treville laughs. "I'll answer your question, Aramis --" 

"Please. Do." 

"The All-Mother takes gifts gratefully from Her children -- and we are *all* Her children -- but when it comes to violent death? She's a lot more interested in the souls and essences than She is in the blood and violent energies."

"Truly?" 

"Oh, yes," Jason says. "I've discussed the matter with Her myself." 

"As have I." 

"*Did* you...?" 

"Have to make sure you're being *safe*, lover." 

Jason smiles delightedly at him and actually purrs a little. 

Treville cups his hand on the table and twines their fingers together before turning back to Aramis. "Did you have other questions --" 

"Does the All-Mother often speak to mages who are not earth?" 

Treville hums. "Not often, no. We're all Her children -- every last one of us -- but Her 'vision', for lack of a better term, for those of us who aren't animals, plants, or earth-mages is varying degrees of... occluded." 

Aramis's frown is impatient. "This was my understanding --" 

Jason raises two fingers. 

"Yes? What is it, M'sieu?" 

"The All-Mother tends to take a deeper notice -- to be *able* to take a deeper notice -- of the non-earth-mages who willingly and enthusiastically *bind* themselves to earth-mages." 

Aramis recoils -- 

Treville laughs -- 

Jason grins -- "Repeatedly -- over the centuries -- even." 

"I... see." 

"Do you?" 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "You have a fixation on earth-mages." 

"Oh, I absolutely do. They're so wonderfully *filthy*, as a general rule -- if you'll pardon the pun. But, also, I have a fixation on the people who have chosen to be my students over the years." 

Aramis raises that eyebrow higher. "You do not believe you have chosen earth-mages to *be* your students more than any other kind of mage?" 

"Oh, dear, I --" Jason laughs hard -- 

"Why is this amusing," Aramis says, and he looks ready to snarl again, just that fast. 

Porthos had *really* ruffled those feathers. Treville squeezes Jason's hand and leans in, just a little -- 

Aramis very obviously chooses not to back away from him -- 

And Treville smiles ruefully. "He's laughing because you're the *one* mage *other* than myself who has been eager to learn from Jason from basically the word go, Aramis." 

*That* makes Aramis sit back -- 

And blink -- 

And stare back and forth between them for a long moment before saying, "What *is* your reputation on this sphere, M'sieu Blood." 

"Essentially the same as that of the Jason on *your* sphere, Aramis," Jason says, sobering and smiling wryly. "But... open your senses. *Listen* to your senses -- rather than to your desire to learn and become ever more dangerous." 

"What... of course you feel dangerous, powerful, ancient, strange -- all of these things and more! -- but that is no reason --" 

"Isn't it...?" And Treville raises his own eyebrows. 

Aramis growls. "That is offensive!" 

Treville makes a soothing gesture with his free hand. "I mean no offense, Aramis. But... think of the mages you have known. How many of them would have done *quite* as well with _Apotheoses_ as you have?"

"How many of them, when faced with incontrovertible proof of multiple spheres, would not simply... bow out of the conversation in whatever manner they could?" And Jason's voice is firm again. 

"I --" 

"Aramis," Treville says. "How many of the mages you have known would have survived a *fraction* of your existence -- with or *without* the attendant violence?" 

Aramis *starts* to lick his lips -- stops. "I... see the point you are trying to make." 

"Yes?" And Jason leans in. "Because, to be *quite* honest, after half a millennium spent coaxing, cajoling, and doing everything in my power to *seduce* mages to consent to learn from me, I have found myself with *two* brilliant students -- one of whom frankly *told* me I was *going* to be his teacher while he was in the process of saving my life ten minutes after we'd *met*." 

"I." 

Treville sighs. "He was dying in pieces in my turnip field. We'll elaborate on that story later, if you'd like." 

Aramis stares at them -- 

Takes a breath -- 

Seems to *count* -- "No. Tell me..." 

"Yes, Aramis?" And Jason is smiling. 

Aramis turns back to Treville. "You meant to exact his teaching as *payment* for your saving his life." 

"That's right. I could tell that he was powerful beyond all reason; I could tell that he was *smart*... and he'd *told* me a little about himself while he was busy dying. It was enough. I knew I could use a man like him." 

"Flatterer." 

Treville shows his teeth at Jason, letting them lengthen just a little -- 

"Seducer." 

Treville yips a laugh, shifts back to human-form, and turns back to Aramis. "It didn't take long before I wanted more than just to use him." 

"How long?" 

"We hadn't made it back to my manor house." 

Aramis looks affronted. 

And that -- well, this time Treville *and* Jason are laughing. 

The look on Aramis's face could etch *steel* -- 

Treville coughs. "If it helps, Aramis? Please remember that I'm a *dog*. The only pissing about we do involves other people's shrubbery." 

Aramis's jaw drops -- 

Treville grins -- 

Aramis shows his *teeth*. "You were not honest with your *sons* in *anything* like a timely fashion." 

Treville inhales sharply, grin curdling on his face -- 

He now has Porthos's memories of Aramis sprawled, not *quite* dead but still too far gone to be helped, in that playroom. 

He can see that twitching hand.

He -- 

(Amant. Aramis is not celebrating the triumph of this moment.) 

I... what? I'm not -- I don't -- 

(Look up.) 

Treville shudders and does just that. His head feels heavy. He feels... too old and too slow and too *foolish* -- 

And Aramis looks like he feels too much of a lot of different god-awful things, himself. 

Aramis looks like -- 

Aramis is letting them *see* -- and Treville understands. 

"This... you're letting us see how much you regret stabbing me just then." 

Aramis nods once, sharply, mouth twisting. "I apologize --" 

Treville raises his free hand. "Don't -- don't shame yourself, son --" 

"I am not -- you will not take my apology?" 

"I apologize for *that*. And -- I deserved that stab." 

"I already *knew* that you'd spoken *to* your sons about --" Aramis turns away. His pulse is pounding in his throat. His breathing is *rough* -- 

"Aramis... we promised you whatever information you asked for --" 

"I do not like... dishonesty," Aramis says, and his expression is crumbling. 

He's shoring it up again and again, but -- 

He's thinking about the conversation with Athos and Porthos. 

He's thinking about his *own* reaction to Porthos's honesty. "Don't *shame* yourself. *Please*." 

"Will you not call me your son again, Treville?" Aramis isn't looking at him. 

Aramis isn't -- 

He doesn't *mean* -- 

And Treville's own breathing is rough. 

Aramis ducks his head, and smiles darkly. "I apologize for this, as well." 

Treville -- isn't sure what to say. But -- "Talk to us. Please." 

Aramis licks his lips. "I will do this thing," he says, and stands, and... walks the shelves. 

Not paces. 

Treville and Jason stay right where they are. 

"You watched us today," Aramis says. "You know what your Porthos said to me." 

"We do," Jason says, with *gentle* firmness. 

Aramis pauses at one of the empty tables. "You know that *I* had demanded complete honesty from him. From *both* of them." 

"We do," Treville says. "And we know that it burns you that you couldn't take it immediately." 

Aramis hisses between his teeth. "I am not *weak*!" 

"No one said you were," Treville says, squeezing Jason's hand one more time before releasing him and standing. 

"Stay --" 

"I won't move from here."

"No -- *no*." 

"No, Aramis?"

When Aramis shows his teeth this time, it's a rictus. 

"Aramis..." 

"I. Am not. *Weak*." 

"Every soldier needs time and room to regroup, now and then," Treville says. 

Aramis meets his eyes for that, and *his* eyes are wide and young and full -- 

Full of *hope* --

And then it's gone, just that fast. "I am *not* a soldier, Treville." 

"Aramis --" 

"Assassins who spend too much -- too much time *regrouping* do not live *long*." 

"What are you living *for*, Aramis...?" And Jason's voice is low, insinuating, full of *dark* knowledge -- 

Aramis gasps -- 

Snarls -- 

Whirls on Jason, cheeks flushing -- 

"This... is what Porthos meant when he called you vulnerable," Jason says. "*One* of the things he meant."

"Did you think I -- I --" Aramis pushes a hand back through his hair and breathes himself back down to something like calm. 

"That's good, Aramis," Treville says, and aches to move closer, to *touch*, to *hold* -- 

Aramis gives him a *bleak* look -- and laughs. "Perhaps you both think me *stupid*. *Foolish*." 

"Never that," Jason says. "But why?" 

"Perhaps you think I *didn't* realize that your Porthos was right about me? That I do not recognize truth when I hear it spoken to me?" 

Treville grins. "I would never say that... to a spirit-mage." 

Aramis blinks. "Did your own Aramis not recognize truth --" 

"He was good at it, Aramis --" 

"Far better than most," Jason says. "But..." 

"*But*... there were lies inside him. I recognized the signs, even if I didn't know exactly what they were. He believed he didn't deserve everything he had, and certainly not everything he wanted, and, as Athos and Porthos told you, he punished himself for it. That's not the kind of thing that lets you really *hear* the true things people tell you." 

This time, the wry smile on Aramis's face is... better. "Not even when the truth-tellers are Athos and Porthos? You?" 

Treville smiles with a warm pain. "Not even then." He doesn't call Aramis 'son'. 

By the way Aramis studies him -- in completely human ways -- Treville knows he'd heard it anyway. 

Treville gestures for peace -- 

And Aramis inclines his head and turns to Jason. "In answer to your question, M'sieu Blood, I live for knowledge, and the time and room to peruse it --" 

Jason cocks his head to the side for that lie. 

Treville is just flaring his nostrils and snorting a little. 

And Aramis... is smiling ruefully. "Yes, it was foolish to try to lie to the two of *you*." 

"Then why did you try...?" And Jason is *pinning* Aramis with a look. 

"Because I do not care for the truth, M'sieu Blood," Aramis says, and lifts his chin just a little. 

Jason nods once. "Aramis... we both know quite well what it is to have nothing whatsoever to live for." 

"Don't --" 

"We both know what it *does* to a man to continue living when the only thing keeping you going is the fact that you don't bloody know how to *stop*," Treville says, and takes one -- just one -- step closer -- 

"*Don't* --" 

"Don't hide from this, Aramis. It's an opportunistic pain that will lurk within you, waiting for its chance to *break* you --" 

"I do not *break*!" 

"No. You bend. You bend to *survive*, Aramis," Treville says -- 

"Yes -- *yes* --" 

"Everything has a breaking point. There's always one bend too many," Jason says -- 

"Stop -- what is your solution? Mm? What do the two of you *recommend*? Perhaps I should get a hobby? Take up embroidery? Tatting? I am very good at the latter -- it *is* quite soothing. But it does not fill the *hole*. It does not quiet the *screaming*. And *you* cannot give me anything that *will*." 

Jason shows his teeth. "We already have, Aramis."

For a moment, there's only silence -- and the pound of Aramis's pulse as he stares at both of them. 

Treville aches to *hold* -- 

Aramis's eyes are so *wide* -- 

(Not yet, amant...) 

I *know* --

And Aramis takes a long, slow breath, doing his best to conceal a shudder. "I... would like to be left alone now." 

Jason inclines his head and stands. 

Treville shivers. "Anything you need." He doesn't ask if Aramis will join them for dinner. 

He *doesn't*. 

What he *does* do is rest his palm at the small of Jason's back and guide him out of the library. 

It's time for Jason to meet Athos and Porthos.


	12. Meeting the family.

Treville's knock on the door to the study feels just as out of place as it had in Porthos's rooms this morning, which is *asinine*, because it's Treville's bloody *house*. 

But, well. 

Porthos still doesn't feel like he belongs here. 

Porthos isn't sure *any* of them belong here, since it's just too comfortable and *home*-like for the Treville he'd gotten a little used to over the past couple of years -- the Treville who always looked *most* at-home in the woods somewhere, preferably on a really *muddy* day, when even the filthiest men were crying out for a river to bathe in and Treville just looked like -- 

"Like I wanted to roll in something, son?" 

Porthos blinks -- 

*Remembers* that his thoughts are available to literally everyone -- including maybe the new bloke right there with the long, dark-red hair and the massive bloody *bastard* sword on his back and -- 

Athos grips Porthos's shoulder again. "Drink more, brother." 

"Right you are," Porthos says, and does just that. 

The new bloke -- and he *has* to be Jason Blood -- smiles at both him and Athos *fondly* from where he's standing just a little bit *behind* Treville, and -- 

Wait, no, no, that's not -- 

Porthos drinks *off* his brandy, sets the glass down, and moves to offer his arm to Blood. "Porthos." 

But... Blood stares at his arm with a ruefully *quirked* expression. "I... cannot clasp your arm, Porthos," he says, and looks up. "Though I am Jason Blood, and I am *very* happy to meet you." 

"Uh." 

Treville cups Blood's shoulder. "Jason is cursed, boys. In *various* different ways. The one that makes the most difference right *now* is that he's possessed by two different beings --" 

"Ah." Athos is blinking. 

Porthos isn't doing much better -- 

And Blood laughs softly. "One of the beings sharing my soul is a fire-demon named Etrigan. There's... a fairly lengthy story behind that --"

"Oh, *is* there?" 

Treville coughs -- 

"Well... yes?" And Blood touches his tongue to his upper lip. "The other being is a shadow-creature who has yet to give either Etrigan or myself his name, or to communicate with us in any other way we could understand. He was -- possibly; we are *not* certain -- born from the warring Etrigan and I did when we were trying to eject the other of us from the soul we were forced to share -- we warred for *decades*, using *very* large amounts of power -- and, because he is *decidedly* not a child of the All-Mother... well. Children of the All-Mother who have not been bound to me -- and corrupted *by* me -- such as you and Athos? Will feel a certain intense *wrongness* from the shadow-being's presence within me. 

"He allows us to use his powers, however, and certainly seems to agree with *how* we use them, so we try not to worry. Much. " 

Athos stares. 

Porthos stares *harder*. 

Athos recovers first, clearing his throat and drawing himself up. "What are your intentions toward our father, Monsieur Blood?" 

"Yeah, *that*!" 

*Treville* stares -- 

"I..." Blood blinks... a lot. "What?" 

"I believe I was quite clear," Athos says, drawing himself up even more. 

Blood licks his lips -- 

Coughs -- 

And grins. "Your father is a man of wealth, prospects, and power -- temporal and otherwise." 

Athos and Porthos nod. 

"Sons --" 

"Oh, no, no," Blood says, and grins wider. "Your sons have an excellent point, amant --" 

"*Jason* --" 

"Amant. Do you mean to *deny* your sons the opportunity to care for you...?"

Treville blanches --

Porthos resists the urge to go to him and stays right at Athos's side -- 

"I thought not," Blood says, and folds his pale, heavily-scarred and -callused hands in front of himself. "Now, where would the two of you like for me to *begin*." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "The corruption you've tainted him with." 

"*Son* --" 

"Shut it, sir," Porthos says, and only blushes hot enough to set fire to *most* of the furnishings in the room. 

Treville stares at Porthos *incredulously* -- 

Porthos blushes hot enough to burn the *house* down -- 

Blood coughs into his fist -- 

Porthos focuses on *him*, instead -- 

"I did *not* try especially hard to keep your father from staining himself with me --" 

"You were *dying*!" 

"I believe your son told you to shut it, amant." 

Treville growls, and stomps to the most beat-up chair -- a huge old throne of a thing -- throwing himself into it and scowling at all of them. 

Blood blows Treville a kiss -- and smoke comes out of his mouth and coils into a love-knot in the bloody *air*. And then he turns back to them. "As I was saying, I didn't try very hard to stop him, because I was dying, and I wanted to *avoid* that. However, I knew he was an earth-mage from the moment I could sense him, and the fact of the matter is that there is *no* kind of mage who has an easier time being cleansed of *all* sorts of corruption," he says, and turns to Porthos with an eyebrow up. 

Porthos nods slowly. "You knew that all he had to do was talk to the All-Mother about it." 

"Just so. The All-Mother tends to cleanse her children the moment communion occurs between her and the child in question. In order to *keep* the corruption on his soul, your father had to negotiate with the All-Mother, and, eventually, ask her for a boon." 

Athos frowns. 

Porthos frowns, too -- 

Blood smiles ruefully. "To make things even worse... your *father* didn't know what you did, Porthos." 

"What? What do you mean?" Porthos turns to Treville -- 

And Treville smiles ruefully. "I didn't have the foggiest clue about the All-Mother, son -- except as a goddess to *avoid*." 

"But *why*?" 

"Your mother's guardians didn't know, when they were augmenting Amina and me, that making us into stronger earth-mages, making us into shifters, making us into *more of the All-Mother's children than we had been before*... wasn't painting a target on our backs." 

"*Shit* --" 

"I..." Athos licks his lips. "I take it that *other* gods and goddesses would've responded poorly to that sort of thing?" 

Treville nods to Blood. 

They turn back to him -- 

And Blood spreads his hands. "I have spent a *significant* portion of the past few centuries *warring* with gods and their minions --" 

"Uh." 

"-- for reasons including those gods' habit of smiting the innocent and unwary." 

Athos looks pained, but -- 

"Right, but, the All-Mother *isn't* like that," Porthos says. 

"Not as a general rule," Blood says. "I explained that to your father; he communed with her -- she cleansed him." 

"And he asked Her to stop doing that," Porthos says. 

"Yes --" 

"Because you asked him to?" And Athos raises an eyebrow. 

And... Blood and Treville share a wry look before Treville says, "Sons, one of Jason's *most* irritating habits is that he tends to assume that *everyone* would rather be free of him." 

"Not that *you* would know *anything* about that..."

This time, the look Blood and Treville share is more annoyed, but -- 

But. 

Porthos *looks* at Treville. "Didn't we just go over how you do that too much, sir?" 

Treville blinks -- "I --" 

Blood coughs a *laugh* -- the laugh actually makes it all the way out this time -- 

"Monsieur Blood," Athos says, "are we to understand that you have the same problem?" 

"I --" 

"That you hide yourself away like a coward whenever there's the faintest chance that you could be rejected?" 

Porthos chokes -- 

Blood *stares* -- 

Treville snickers and coughs and snickers *more* -- 

Like a *boy* -- 

"Oh -- fuck -- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's just --" 

"Just *what*," Blood says -- 

"That's how you should've treated *me*! It would've *worked*!" 

Blood's jaw drops -- but only for a moment before he's nodding slowly and turning to Porthos. "Your father has shared many memories with me of your mother positively *brutalizing* him." 

Porthos blinks... but. "No, yeah, that sounds like her." 

"I thought it might." 

"I want --" 

"All the memories are yours, son. I'll share them. Your mother kept me in *line*." 

"Well. Someone clearly needed to," Athos says, and *looks* at Treville. 

Treville stares at Athos -- "I see the future of my command, and it is a shaky one," he says, and licks his lips. And laughs hard. "Fuck, I've needed you boys here. I've *needed* it." 

Athos's expression softens -- 

Porthos knows his *own* expression does -- 

And Blood sighs. "I *promise* to be absolutely vicious with you *every* time you even look like you're about to forget such things." 

"*Thank* you. I'll bloody do the same." 

"Hm. Thank you?" 

Treville stands up and crosses the room, cupping Blood's face and kissing him hard, strong, *hungrily* -- 

So -- 

He pushes his hands into Blood's long hair and *grips* -- 

He pulls Blood's *head* back --

And there are about sixteen *hundred* different reasons why Porthos *needs to not be thinking about all the fantasies he's had about Treville over the years*. 

He turns away from Blood and Treville -- 

Not *fast* enough to avoid seeing Treville's eyes fly open -- 

See him jerk *back* -- 

And Athos's eyes are wide and *staring* -- 

Shit -- 

"I think." Porthos pushes a hand back through his hair. "I think I should -- go back to my rooms --" 

"Son, don't --" 

"I'm not -- I can't --" 

"Son, it's all *right* --" 

The sound that comes out of Porthos could only be called a laugh by a *really* sodding charitable person -- 

"Like you?" And Athos's voice is quiet and -- gentle. 

"Athos --" 

"You're kind and giving and *forgiving* with all of us, Porthos. Please treat yourself the same way." 

"You -- you *saw* what I just thought --" 

"I did not," Blood says, and folds his hands together in front of himself again, "and I of course will not ask you to share. But I must say this: You are tired, drunk, hungover, *grieving*, and recovering from receiving shocking information on several different fronts. It would be *wildly* abnormal for the run of your thoughts *not* to be abnormal." 

Porthos shudders, but -- no. "And if I'd had the thoughts before?" 

"Before you knew I *was* your father, son?" And Treville's voice is so -- 

Low. Firm. 

*Implacable*. 

Porthos licks his lips. "I shouldn't --" 

And Athos's hand is on his arm again. "You shouldn't be ashamed of yourself for this. You shouldn't..." Athos growls. "I believe very strongly that you wouldn't let me or -- or *Aramis*, if he were here --" 

"Oh -- fuck --" 

"Would you, brother?" 

"*No* -- *fuck*, no --" 

"*Well*?" 

And Porthos looks to all of them -- 

Looks to their *steady* eyes on him, and -- 

They're not judging him. 

They're not disgusted. 

They're not -- 

"Son... we need to talk about this," Treville says. "I've done us *all* *countless* crimes by keeping the truth from you. But..." And he smiles ruefully and closes the distance between them, reaching up to cup Porthos's face. 

Porthos *shivers* -- 

"Is this all right, son?" 

"*Yes* -- I -- I mean -- I'm not --" 

"Shh. You're not the only one who's had a questionable thought or *several* about his family -- and *I* don't actually have any excuse."

Porthos's heart *slams* in his chest -- 

He doesn't know what to *do* with that thought -- 

He can't -- 

Treville smiles ruefully and *strokes* Porthos's cheek before stepping back. "We'll talk this through, son." 

"Sir --" 

"We'll *talk*, and get to know each other, and *learn* how to be a family. And we'll be honest the whole time. All right?"

Porthos -- takes a breath. And another. 

"That's good, son. That's perfect." 

"I -- you can't build anything good on lies. Nothing -- nothing worthwhile. Nothing that'll *last*." 

For a moment, Treville looks only *starved* -- "I want. I want to build a forever with you boys." 

Athos inhales sharply -- 

Treville blinks himself back to looking firm and steady --

"Not that, amant." 

Treville *grunts* -- and then grunts a laugh. "Hiding becomes a habit," he says, and *gleams* at all of them. "Being hungry also becomes a habit. Being... unfed. You get to feel the gnawing in your belly -- in your soul -- and it almost becomes a friend. A *companion*. Doesn't it, Jason." 

Blood laughs ruefully. "Of course it does. One forgets how to... eat. One forgets the *steps* of eating, of *gaining* sustenance for oneself --" 

"Right, both of you sound like cannibals right now, and that's a problem," Porthos says. "If you *need* something from us --" 

"Take it," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow in challenge. 

Treville's eyes flare *hot* --

Blood's eyes flare *red* -- and then he turns *away* -- 

But Treville grips *his* arm. "Sons. *Who* are you speaking to when you say to take what --" 

"Both of you," Athos says. "I would still like to know more about Monsieur Blood's prospects and plans --" 

"Oh -- fuck --" 

"Son," Treville says, "he's had nearly seven centuries to, among other things, accumulate wealth. He lost his *titles* centuries ago, but temporal power is meaningless to him --" 

"Let him answer," Porthos says, lifting his nose because somehow he has to. 

"You have to because you want to read his honesty, son. You're *rapidly* coming into your power as an earth-mage -- and as a shifter." 

"I -- just from you knocking the *barriers* down between us?" 

"I --" 

"If I may?" And Blood raises two long fingers. 

Treville nods. 

"What -- what is it?" 

"Mon amant cleansed you -- healed you, in some ways -- when he knocked those barriers down, Porthos. You're more fully connected to the All-Mother and her power than you could be without actually communing with her." 

"Uh. Shit." 

"Yes, precisely. But, in answer to your questions -- I'm a scholar and a *knight*. I wasn't always the former, but I've *nearly* always been the latter. I love learning, and I have a vocation to end ignorance whenever and wherever I can. My other vocation is to fight for the *right* whenever and wherever I can -- and, before you ask, I tend to define that *precisely* the way your father does."

And that's... true. Porthos nods to Athos -- 

Athos nods slowly, but frowns. 

"What is it, brother?" 

"That seems... incalculably strange." 

"Yes...?" And Blood has an eyebrow up. 

Athos gestures to the man's clothes and weapons. "You cling to the past in various ways. The fact that your... morality, for lack of a better term, has advanced without the rest of you --" 

Treville starts snickering again. 

Porthos has the distinct sense that he's going to regret this, but -- "What? What's the joke?" 

Blood clears his throat and pulls a small, slim book out of thin bloody *air* -- "This is the best French translation of Musa's _Apotheoses_ that I've been able to get my hands on," he says. "The chapter on longevity -- specifically, the longevity of beings not particularly tightly-bound by mortality -- has quite a bit to say about the wisdom of, well, mixing and *matching*. You might find it interesting." And Blood proffers the book to Athos, careful not to let their fingers touch. 

And that... Porthos looks to Athos. 

Athos nods and sets the book down on one of the end tables. "How would we go about corrupting ourselves so that you could touch us, Monsieur Blood?" 

Blood blinks -- 

And Porthos grins. *They* can be arseholes, too. "It's *about* time for us to be properly *introduced*, don't you think?" 

"I -- both of you --" 

"Jason," Porthos says, and raises his eyebrows in question. 

Blood shivers. "Porthos. Athos. Do not doubt that I want this --" 

"We don't," Athos says. "We're merely waiting for you --" 

"To get out of your own way, eh?" And Porthos grins more. "You're a blood-mage, right? So it's *probably* a matter of *shared* blood," Porthos says, and pulls his belt knife. "Right?" 

Blood -- *Jason* -- stares at them for a long moment, and then turns back to Treville. "I see the family resemblance." 

Treville sighs happily. "They're perfect. Now take a deep breath and tell them --" 

"I have to -- drink a small amount of your blood." 

"That's it? Let's --" 

"Wait, Porthos," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "Please remember the corruption --" 

"We *do*," Athos says --

"You don't, I'm afraid. You're going to find the experience of me drinking your blood *wildly* unpleasant, because of the shadow-being within me. You're going to fight to get *away* from me, forcing me to use my power to hold you *still*." 

"Uh." For a moment, all Porthos can think about is the overwhelming length of *time* Jason has spent unable to have so much as an *arm*-clasp without having to ask for something most people consider an *obscenity* -- 

Agreed, Athos says. It's -- too much. What he says aloud is: "Hm." 

And Jason's smile gets even more rueful. "Yes, I --" 

"Right, well, thanks for the warning," Porthos says, before Jason can get any closer to finishing *that* thought. "Let's get on with it." 

"Yes, let's." 

Treville is snickering again. 

"Oh, murdering *boggarts*," Jason says, and reaches for the blade. 

Porthos hands it over -- carefully -- and pushes his sleeves up. 

Jason slashes him quick and neat -- 

*Darts* in quicker than that -- 

And Porthos *shocks* himself by *snarling* and tossing his head and -- 

He can't -- 

His entire body is *crawling* -- 

His skin is *hot* -- 

He can't -- 

He sounds like an *animal*, but this is -- 

Is -- just his arm getting a little more attention than it usually does. It stings a bit, and it's a little shivery when Jason *licks* it, but -- 

And that's when Porthos realizes that he'd *missed* the magic being expended this time, even though it was happening *to* him. That -- 

"Mm, yes," Jason says, standing and licking his red lips. "That particular effect has saved my hide more than once." He smiles ruefully. "How are you?" 

Porthos takes a breath -- 

Realizes that Jason had heard his *thoughts* -- 

Takes *another* breath... and exhales out about a tonne of tension. He nods. "That was bloody horrible, but worth it," he says, and offers Jason his arm. 

Jason smiles softly. "I promise to live up to that statement, Porthos," he says, and clasps forearms with him. 

That was true, too.

When it's Athos's turn, he growls like *death* and clenches his fists so tightly several knuckles crack. 

And Porthos can see how he's being held, just a little. 

How he's *not* being held perfectly still, but rather just hard enough to keep him from hurting himself. 

The relative freedom probably drives some people madder -- 

(It absolutely does, Porthos, but more people notice having been held utterly still in the moments after they're free... and resent it.) 

Porthos winces and nods -- and watches Athos relaxing by increments as Jason finishes up and frees him. 

He joins Athos and wraps an arm around his shoulders, feeling strange for a moment -- 

Feeling *confused* for another moment -- 

And Athos smiles up at him ruefully. "You usually touch Aramis this way."

"Oh -- *shit* --" 

"Don't let go. I've been touching you the way he did all day. I've been... taking that for myself." 

"*Athos* --" 

"Should I apologize?" 

"Bloody *no* --" 

"That's what I thought you would say, but it's still good to --" 

Porthos hugs Athos tight. Just -- 

He has to. 

He has to. 

(You will, eventually, have to let me breathe.) 

Treville comes to join the hug. "You should've thought of that, son." 

(I...) 

Jason laughs hard -- from across the room. 

Porthos reaches for him. 

"Porthos --" 

"*Come* on, now, Jason. Athos is getting dangerous amounts of air in there." 

Jason swallows -- 

Blushes -- 

And joins the hug, squeezing them hard with his long, *powerful* arms -- 

Well, he's been swinging a bloody bastard sword around forever, they'd *better* be powerful -- 

"That's *right*, son." 

Jason's laugh is a little... cracked. 

And Athos shivers. (I only. I felt the absence of Aramis's physicality so. I had to bring it back. I had to.) 

"Oh, brother... you did right. You did exactly right." 

(I know it wasn't... exact...) 

"Don't try to make it that way, son," Treville says. "Just keep touching us. And let us keep touching *you*." 

"*That*." 

Athos shivers again -- 

Again -- 

"Sometimes..." Jason swallows again. "Sometimes, touch is the only answer, Athos. We must not disdain it."

"Never, ever turn down petting. That goes a hundredfold for *you*, now, Porthos," Treville says.

"Oh, yes," Jason says, and his voice is low and harsh and -- ancient. "You never know when you'll go without." 

They're all shuddering for that -- and pushing closer, too.


	13. They know what it means to be alone.

Aramis changes for dinner, grateful that he'd had *enough* clothes for two weeks among nobility in the bolthole Treville and Blood had found him in. He -- 

He knows perfectly well that he *could* stay in the rooms he's been given and eat his meal there. 

He knows that it would be *accepted* by *all* of these men, even if not preferred. 

He knows that it would be *understood* -- and this, of course, is the sticking point. He does not wish to be understood by these men. Not. 

Not in this way. 

In addition, he has apologies to make. 

He has apologies he *must* make, lest he show himself to be dishonourable as *well* as weak. He cannot, *will* not, do that. 

So. 

He changes for dinner. 

He follows the discreet summons Treville sends -- truly; it is more of a gentle *touch* to his soul. 

He...

They are all there in the relatively modest dining room -- Aramis has homes with dining rooms which dwarf this one, gifts from those who have appreciated his services *very* much, or who have feared his return, or both -- 

They are... 

They have been grieving, of course. 

Athos's and Porthos's eyes are rimmed with red, and so are Treville's. 

Blood's eyes are not, but there is an age and *weight* to his regard -- above and beyond his usual -- which *speaks* of grief. 

Aramis does not turn around and walk back out when they all notice him in the doorway, even though he wishes to very, very badly. 

He smiles ruefully, instead, and moves close to Porthos's chair -- 

Porthos starts to *stand* -- 

"Please, do *not*," Aramis says, before he can think about all the ways Porthos standing for him had felt wrong. 

Porthos frowns and sits back down. "Aramis. What do you need?" 

Well, that is a *question* -- no. 

No. 

He knows what he needs right now, and it is this: "I need to apologize to you, and to Athos." 

"Aramis --" 

"Please wait," he says, quietly and firmly, and looks to Athos, as well. 

Athos looks to *Porthos* -- but only briefly before saying, "We will wait, Aramis. Please say everything you wish to say." 

"Everything you *need* to say," Porthos corrects -- and Aramis shows his teeth for a moment. 

Just for a moment. He *will* gain control of himself, and he will -- "I asked for your honesty. In truth, I demanded it. You gave it to me freely and openly and with -- with *care*. Care for *me*... and I disdained it," Aramis says, and grips the side of the table -- no. 

He moves his hands closer to his weapons -- no. 

He doesn't know what to do with his hands. He -- "That is unacceptable. That is *unforgivable*, by the code I have held myself to for many years now --"

Porthos growls -- 

"Son --" Treville growls at himself. "I'm sorry, *Aramis* --" 

"Please. *Wait*," Aramis says, and his jaw is tense enough to ache -- 

His body is tensed enough to -- 

To -- 

He relaxes himself, one piece at a time. He can do this quickly and well, at this point, and he is grateful for forcing himself to pick up the skill. 

When he can breathe again, he says, "Porthos. Athos. I would understand if you did not wish to have anything further to do with me, but *I* wish to make amends in any way I can. I wish to prove to you that I *can* be an honest man, and an honourable man. You have no obligation to help me with --" 

Porthos stands again -- 

"*Please* --" 

"I won't *touch* you, mate. I just. I just need you to know that we *understand*, all right? We bloody --" Porthos shakes his head. "*None* of us do all that well when we've been alone for too long. And we all do badly in *really sodding similar ways*, sometimes." 

Aramis doesn't growl, and he doesn't -- 

Doesn't reach for a *weapon*. That isn't *appropriate* in this moment. 

But... Porthos truly believes he is being honest about that. 

Porthos, who couldn't be more *different* from him -- 

Aramis narrows his eyes -- 

And Porthos smiles. "Are you thinking about how different we are, mate?" 

Porthos, who almost certainly was a very intuitive man long before he began growing into his power. Aramis will remember that. "Yes. I am." 

Porthos nods across the table to Athos. "He can tell you what I was like when we first met. I'd broken up with my woman to become a Musketeer -- the woman who had been my closest friend and *sister* since I was a *toddler*, and who'd been my *lover* since I was ten years *old* --" 

"I."

"-- and who suddenly believed I was going to forget all about her just because -- well. We fought a lot. We said a lot of cruel, god-awful things to each other. And? When she kicked me out? I went. And I had no one -- *really* no one -- for the first time since my Mum had died." 

Treville shifts in his chair -- 

"Since she'd been *murdered*," Porthos says, correcting himself. "Sorry, sir." 

"No, I --" Treville growls at himself again. "You talk. *Please*." 

"There's not much more I can say, but..." He nods to Athos again. 

"Nearly every time I said something... true about Porthos's pain -- or even about happier topics, and I was mostly tripping over my insights in those early days --" 

"I bit his *head* off --" 

"In a very Porthos-like way, of course --" 

"Aw --" 

"By which I mean he was usually apologizing for it within minutes and explaining himself with terrifying honesty not long after *that*..." Athos huffs. "It was alarming. And shaming." 

"*Brother* --" 

Athos holds up a hand. "My parents died in a carriage accident when I was twenty-one and my brother Thomas was twenty. We were heartbroken, but we decided not to put off Thomas's extended holiday to Greece for very long. Life must go on, must it not? Not long after that, a woman came to my manor house on a rainy night, telling a tale of evil servants deserting her when her carriage had thrown a wheel. 

"The story was obviously a lie -- there were too many things about her which marked her as anything but a noblewoman -- but I was... fascinated. By her beauty. By her audacity. By the way she seemed to be measuring my ability to best her in a *fight*. By... so many things..." Athos looks down. 

Aramis knows this will end badly -- of course it must! But...

What to say? 

*How* to say anything -- "Athos... you need not --" 

"I must tell you this, Aramis," Athos says, and looks up again. "I must -- you must understand what *I* become when I am left alone." 

Aramis winces -- 

Tenses -- 

He doesn't know what to do with his *hands* -- 

And then Porthos touches the back of his left hand slowly, gently -- 

Strokes with his callused fingers -- 

He -- what? 

Aramis stares at him --

And Porthos is giving him a concerned look. They're *all* giving him concerned -- but Porthos's eyes are wide and full and -- "All right, mate?"

"You... are comforting *me*?" 

"Uh... carefully? But yeah --" 

"Do *not*. You must -- Athos needs --" 

"Aramis," Athos says, with gentle firmness. "I have had comfort for this. From Porthos and our Aramis, and from Treville. I won't disdain more --" 

"*Yes*, this is what --" 

"-- but I do not require more *now*." 

And. 

Aramis must look as though he needs comfort now. 

Right this moment -- 

In front of all these *people* -- 

Porthos is still *touching* -- 

"I --" Aramis tugs his hand away. "Where do you wish me to sit, Treville?"

Treville frowns -- 

Aramis can *feel* Porthos frowning -- 

This is not the way to start making *amends* -- 

He -- no. No. 

He turns to Porthos. "Please, I appreciate that you wish me to feel comforted, but..." He does not know how to finish that sentence -- no. 

He knows *precisely* how to finish that sentence, and he does not *want* -- 

No. Honesty. "But I could not take it, just then," Aramis says, and flushes *hot*. 

Porthos inhales *sharply* -- "Understood. I won't -- I won't push." 

And that... Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos *laughs*, and it's so -- 

So -- 

"All right, yeah, I probably will. But uh... you already know you can stop me," he says, and smiles ruefully. Beautifully. 

It occurs to Aramis that he doesn't *know* whether or not he would've tried to seduce Porthos on his own sphere, had he existed there. That his beauty and honesty and raw *force* were one thing, but his terribly dangerous questions were another thing altogether. 

That -- 

"Aramis...?" 

Aramis blinks -- he's staring. 

He's staring at Porthos like -- but he has no *idea* what expression was on his face. *Is* it a consolation to know that their Aramis had almost certainly done the same thing *constantly*? "I apologize. I grew lost in thought." 

"About...?" And Blood's habit of asking the worst possible questions at the worst possible times -- 

"That would be telling," Aramis says, with, perhaps, a bit too much of a growl to be a *good* tease -- 

But Porthos is laughing again -- and pulling out the chair next to his own. "Come on, have a seat, Aramis. This *is* where you wanted him, right, sir?" 

And Treville is smiling at -- all of them. "There or next to Athos, son." 

Athos smiles... wickedly. "I'm far less likely to try to comfort you without express permission." 

"I." 

Porthos laughs hard. "That's *cheating*, brother --" 

"How is that *cheating*?" 

"You're using your um. Your uh..." 

"Natural reticence...?" And Blood is smiling, too -- 

"That, right there," Porthos says. "You're using your natural reticence and fuss-arsedness --" 

"You." 

"-- *against* me." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that 'fuss-arsedness' was a word, brother." 

"It is when it refers to *you*." 

"He has a point, son," Treville says. "You've been a fuss-arse since birth." 

Athos *coughs* -- 

Everyone at the table laughs -- 

Even Athos begins to *huff* --

And Aramis's face hurts from -- not smiling. 

He smiles. 

He smiles, and blushes for it, and -- 

And sits. 

Porthos and Athos *grin* at him -- 

Porthos sits, as well -- 

"Let me just..." And Treville rings the bell to call for their dinner -- 

And the servants bring the food in almost immediately. 

It, like the other meals Aramis has eaten in this house, is more plain fare than what Aramis has come to expect from nobility, except for the dishes which are *heavily*-spiced, and distinctly foreign in origin. 

Porthos is staring at one of them in shock. 

He shudders and swallows -- 

He is *gripping* his utensils -- 

"Brother...?" 

And Treville reaches to cup Porthos's wrist. "Your mother shared some of her recipes with my staff. And, well, your mother's guardians --" 

"I could *punch* you just for keeping my Mum's *cooking* away from me!" 

Treville coughs -- 

"I *highly* recommend that approach, Porthos," Blood says -- and he, as usual, is eating only the meat portions of the dishes -- "Your mother beat him *daily*." 

Porthos scowls. "Right, *where* did she punch you usually?" 

Treville licks his lips. "Right... right under the ribs --" 

"Get up, sir. *Please*." 

Blood and Athos are laughing again -- 

Treville *obeys* -- 

Porthos stands up and punches him, doubling him over and making him cough out all his air. "Thank you, sir," he says, and places him gently back in the chair. 

"You're... welcome... son..." 

Blood throws his *head* back to laugh --

Aramis... stares. 

The fact that he's also still *smiling* -- 

The fact that this is -- 

This is something good, something *warm* -- 

Aramis turns back to his *plate* and *eats*. 

Just that. 

Just that. 

Eventually, he can hear Treville taking deep breaths again -- 

Between pleased sounds -- 

Everyone is enjoying the food. 

*He* is enjoying the food -- 

He is enjoying the food very *much* -- 

He just...

And the realization hits: He wants more conversation. 

He wants more... *more*, with these men. Right *now*. He hasn't had *enough* -- 

That should be *ridiculous*!

That should be -- but. 

Should is a meaningless word. 

And Porthos's fingertips are on the back of his hand again. 

Aramis smiles at him. 

Porthos gives him a *wondering* look, a *happy* look -- 

It stops Aramis. It -- 

Aramis is no longer certain what he was going to *say*. He -- 

"You *are* all right?" 

Oh -- "I... I was thinking that I wanted... more conversation." 

If anything, the look on Porthos's face grows more devastatingly *happy*. "I think we can manage that, eh, brother?" 

"Mm. I have a tale to finish," Athos says, and dabs at his mouth with a napkin. 

"Oh -- but perhaps you do not wish to tell *this* tale?" 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Do you not wish to hear it?" 

Of *course* he wants to hear it -- "I..." 

"I believe," Blood says, pushing his plate away and folding his hands together on the table, "that it's a tale worth telling, Athos." 

"But if Aramis doesn't wish --" 

"I wish!" And Aramis is blushing *again*, but -- honesty. 

*Honesty*. 

"Please," he says, and gestures with an open hand. "I would like to... know you. I would like to know how you are... similar to me." 

He can feel Treville giving him a *proud* look -- 

He can feel Blood looking *into* him almost *covetously* -- 

He can feel Porthos wanting to *touch* -- 

But Athos is smiling at him, and it's small, and warm, and -- true. 

Open and appreciative -- 

And not very small, at all, in his eyes. Aramis is staring -- 

"I believe I was speaking about my fascination with 'Anne'...?" 

Aramis blinks -- "That is the name she gave you." 

"Yes -- and I never learned her true one." 

That... "The way you said that.. says much, Athos." 

"I imagine it does," Athos says, and takes a deep drink of wine. "Not long after Thomas returned from Greece, he told me that he had begun investigating 'Anne', and had, of course, discovered many holes in her many stories. I told him that I was aware of this, but that I was in love, and happy. That I had *chosen* her. 

"These words had meaning for Thomas and me. We had planned to tell our parents, before they died, that we had chosen different destinies for ourselves than what they'd planned for us..." Athos trails off, looking distant and full of *old* grief. 

Aramis does not know what to do with his *hands* -- 

But Treville cups Athos's shoulder, and Porthos reaches across the table to *grip* Athos's hand -- and that is correct. 

That is -- 

But had Aramis wanted to do that? 

Had *he* wanted to comfort Athos?

Athos smiles at both Treville and Porthos -- 

Another warm and real smile --

Do they all realize how valuable such things are? 

How valuable simple, honest *affection* can be -- 

Aramis looks to Blood, who is watching the others hungrily -- and not touching. 

Has he not been accepted? 

Are the curses on him too *much* to overcome? 

And then Blood very clearly *notices* Aramis's gaze, and turns to *him* with a hungry *wryness*. "Old habits die hard... when they die, at all," he says. 

"I --" 

"*What* old habits --" Treville growls again. "Jason, were you fading into the shadows again?" 

"I'm afraid so... and Aramis noticed." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "And came to some conclusions, I'd wager." 

"Well --" 

"Jason," Athos says, "if you don't wish to touch me, that's quite all right, of course --" 

Blood chokes on his *wine* -- 

"Better watch that, Jason. Athos is very passionate about his wine," Porthos says, laughing. 

Athos gives Porthos a *withering* look before turning back to Blood. "As I was saying, you need never touch me --" 

"Oh -- Hecate's *cunt*, Athos --"

"I." Athos blinks rapidly and *stares* at Blood. 

Treville snickers. "Yes, his oaths take some getting used to. They're always entertaining, though." 

Porthos wags his head judiciously -- 

And Aramis watches, just watches. 

Blood drinks off the rest of his wine -- 

"Yeah, do that, mate. It's right helpful at times like these." 

"Yes, I concur," Athos says -- 

"*Athos*," Blood says, and sets his glass down *firmly*. "You must *never* think that I do not wish to *touch* you. *Any* of you." 

Athos and Porthos raise their eyebrows -- 

And, in truth, so does Aramis. There was... very much there. 

But Treville is laughing again. "As an aside, son?" And he shakes Athos's shoulder a little. "If you *ever* need Jason to hurry up and admit something, that tactic you used will work *every* time." 

"You *arse*," Blood says. "It works on *you*, *too*." 

"That it does -- almost as well as the regular beatings --" 

"So... uh." And Porthos flares his nostrils and frowns at Treville and Blood. Not hard, not *darkly*, but...

They look to him immediately, and so does Athos. 

"Yes, Porthos?" And Blood, especially, seems... focused. 

"Right, are we going to talk about this?" And Porthos looks to everyone at the table. "This being how everyone at the table is at *least* attracted to everyone else at the table?" 

Treville and Athos both drink off their wine. 

Blood *coughs* -- 

Aramis *stares* at Porthos -- no. No, he is *not*, truly, surprised that Porthos would say such a thing. But... "Porthos. Would you not prefer to have such a conversation... sober?" 

Athos huffs repeatedly. "Yes, but when is that going to *happen*?" 

Porthos splutters. 

Blood turns to Aramis. "They really do drink *heavily*, Aramis. More so than you ever did, I think...?" 

"Assassins must show *care*, M'sieu Blood." 

"And, of course, your spirit-magery has placed stringent demands on your control." 

"Yes --" 

"Oh, that's terrible," Porthos says, and cups Aramis's shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "Everyone ought to be able to lose control *sometimes*." And Porthos's eyes are wide and full and *deep* -- 

And, somehow, he is *not* talking about making love anymore.

Aramis knows he *could* be again -- in *moments*!

Aramis knows he could *make* Porthos -- he turns away. 

He turns to -- to Athos. "Perhaps... you could share more of your tale. Before we talk about anything else." 

Porthos shifts beside him -- 

Treville is flaring his nostrils -- 

Aramis knows what they *sense* -- 

He can't possibly -- 

He should *leave* -- but. 

Porthos is still cupping his shoulder. 

Blood is smiling so -- so *wryly* -- 

Treville's expression is so *gentle* -- and so is Athos's. 

"I will continue. I..." Athos shakes his head.

"Oh -- are you *certain* --" 

Athos raises a hand. "I am, Aramis. I am only thinking of how happy Thomas was when he realized how happy *I* was. How in love I was." Athos shows his teeth. "He was overjoyed, and committed himself to building a family among the three of us. I... don't know precisely what happened. I don't know if he tried to convince 'Anne' to be more honest. I don't know if something else triggered..." He growls. "I only know what *she* said happened, when I found her standing over his body holding a knife, splashed and spattered all over with his blood, which was that Thomas had tried to rape her."

Aramis *jerks* -- 

Porthos, Treville, and Blood all reach to comfort Athos this time. 

Athos's eyes are dark. "Even had I not had my *life* with my younger brother, who was as much our parents' son as I am, and a man of impeccable honour, I had 'Anne's' constant lies. Lies that I had helped her with. Lies that I had forgiven. Lies that I had brushed aside in the interest of my *happiness*. I had her hanged immediately." And then Athos focuses on Aramis. "I know what you must be thinking. I know what any man of honour must think in a moment like this one: 'How could you be certain?'" 

"I..." Aramis winces. 

Athos's expression twists. "The answer is that I could not. I loved 'Anne'. I loved her deeply, madly, and desperately. I loved my brother in... quite a few of the same ways, and with the same desperate force, but I had been raised around soldiers, with their many, many stories of the horrors men and women could commit, even when you were absolutely positive that the men and women in question would never, *could* never, do such things --" 

"*Athos*," Treville says sharply. "You *knew* Thomas. Better than anyone --" 

"I --" 

"*No*. You knew exactly how hurt he was, how *wounded* he was, every time *you* were hurt." 

Athos blinks. 

"Son... I'd been going on the assumption that it was a *generalized* grief for Thomas and that creature that's been fucking you up so badly, but if you've honestly been questioning yourself -- and questioning the little brother who would've literally done *anything* to make you *smile*?" 

"I -- I -- sir, *you've* said that a man can do anything if provoked in just the right ways!" 

"That's right I said it -- and I *meant* it." 

"Yes, and --" 

"But remember this, son," Treville says, and leans in almost close enough to breathe Athos's breath. "Not every person is *capable* of provoking every *other* person in every *way*." 

Athos blinks -- 

*Obviously* thinks about Treville's very wise words, very *true* words --

Obviously... but. Aramis can *help* with this. 

"Athos," Aramis says, and leans in slightly. "You must not try to comprehend the darkness which may or may not have lived in your brother's heart. You must instead think of 'Anne', and how she *was* with Thomas, and how she was with you, and if either of those things --" 

"Would have... attracted..." Athos's expression crumples with *illness*. "It's an obscenity --" 

"*Think*, son --" 

"No, I -- I promise that I have. I meant... that it's an obscenity that I've spent this long..." Athos shudders once -- 

Again -- 

*Again* -- 

"Oh, son, *up*," Treville says, standing -- 

Athos stands, as well, and Treville pulls him into his arms. 

The others stand, as well, and Aramis does, too --

And feels out of place, useless, utterly -- 

And then Porthos turns to him and grips his upper arm. "Thank you for that, mate. I've been trying to get Athos to see that for... well. You can guess." 

"I -- I..." 

"*Thank* you," Porthos says, and smiles at him so warmly, with such *open* gratitude -- 

With no *resentment* -- 

With no *bitterness* -- "You are welcome," Aramis says, and stares helplessly -- 

And Porthos *grins* at him before turning to Blood. "So *you're* already plotting mayhem for 'Annes' on other spheres." 

"You're assuming I hadn't been warning my others -- and other Trevilles -- about her *already*?" And Blood raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos snorts. "Right. I keep forgetting -- no, wait, *how* long have you and Treville been together?" 

"I..." Athos shivers and pulls away from Treville -- but not so far away that Treville must *completely* release him. "I would like to know this, as well." 

Treville licks Athos's cheek. 

"Oh --" 

"Jason and I were torturing and binding the death-mage who murdered Porthos's mother the day we met -- and summoning Porthos by that evening." 

"Oh -- *shit*," Porthos says, and blinks. 

Aramis smiles at Porthos wryly. "They implied, to me, that they had something of a connection before they even made it from Treville's turnip field -- where Treville had saved M'sieu Blood's life -- to his manor house." 

"That's *right*," Treville says -- 

And Blood hums noncommittally. 

"Hey! Are you *denying* that?" 

"You kept me on your string for nearly an *hour*."

Athos turns to stare at Treville. 

Porthos snickers -- 

"Well, I had to see what you were *about*." 

"Hmph. *Cad*." 

"Right. On *that* note -- back to the study? I *almost* don't feel *completely* out of place in that room anymore." 

"Oh, son, what can I --" 

"Easy, easy, sir. It's nothing you can do. I mean. It's not the house, and it's not the staff, and it's not *you* --" 

"Are you *sure* about that?" 

"Sir..." And Athos smiles ruefully. "We're here as your sons, not as your men. That is... difficult to comprehend. To... take in." 

And what of him? What is he here as?

"Give them time, amant," Blood says, and moves gracefully to Treville's side -- he *never* stops moving like a profoundly dangerous man, which is very polite of him. "Give them time and *conversation*." 

"Yeah, *that*," Porthos says, and turns to *him*, sliding his hand back up to Aramis's shoulder. "What about you, eh? Are you up for that?" 

Will you keep touching -- "Yes. I would... like that." 

Porthos smiles again -- 

They *all* smile at him -- 

And then Athos blinks. "Oh -- I never reached the *point* of my tale." 

"How about 'you've been through a lot, and you need a lot of love and comfort now'. That sounds like a good point to take away, brother." 

"Porthos." 

Porthos grins at *Athos* -- and winks. "Right, brother, I'll behave," he says, and turns to Aramis. "He was alone for a good, long while after he had that creature hanged. By the time Treville went to see why his godsons had disappeared off the face of the earth... well, he was even more of a mess. Treville snatched him up, cleaned him up --" 

"As best as he could," Athos says, and huffs -- 

"And made him one of *us*. And I was there... well, I didn't know *anything* about swords or guns or how *Musketeers* fought, eh? So I wanted to learn. I asked around, tried to figure out who was the *best*, and everyone said it was Athos --" 

"And I was... less of a man than the wreckage of one." 

"You did all right, brother -- with the teaching. And you were never an arsehole or a pillock --" 

"*Porthos* --" 

"Athos. Even when you were shutting down conversation and giving me the *frozen* shoulder? You were still making it clear in about a thousand different ways that you were in horrible pain for *some* reason --" 

"Oh -- God. That was exactly what I was trying to *avoid* --" 

"And you *managed* that -- for people who didn't know what they were looking for," Porthos says, and looks to *Aramis*. 

Aramis blinks -- 

Blushes *again* -- 

"I... see." 

"Yeah?" 

Aramis licks his lips. "You have made *your* point, Porthos," he says, and smiles wryly. "Before you ask... I *am* still ready to spend more time in conversation with all of you." 

Porthos *glances* at Aramis's mouth -- and, when he looks up again, he meets Aramis's gaze steadily. 

Shamelessly. 

He -- 

He *knows* Aramis is attracted; he has nothing to *be* ashamed of, nothing to fear -- 

But Porthos frowns. "That bothered you." 

"I --" But there's no good way to deny it. "Yes. I... yes." 

Porthos licks *his* lips. "Then you won't have it from me," he says, firm and *correct* -- 

And that's not right, *either* -- 

Aramis doesn't know what to ask for -- 

He doesn't know what he has the *right* to ask for -- 

He doesn't know what it would be *intelligent* to ask for -- all of these things are usually so *easy*!

"Aramis...?" 

"Please, Porthos, do not... quiet yourself," Aramis says, smiling ruefully and resting one hand on Porthos's forearm. 

"Aramis --" 

"Do nothing to change your remarkable honesty." Your remarkable self. "Please." 

Porthos flares his nostrils -- 

So does *Treville* -- no. 

No. 

"Perhaps... all of you will *ask* when you have questions for me? And I will do the same, instead of simply *delving* with my power." 

Blood laughs delightedly. "An excellent idea. But..." 

"But *what*?" 

Blood nods to Porthos. "He is very, very new to power, Aramis. He will almost certainly reach for you as a shifter before he does anything else." 

Aramis nods slowly and turns back to Porthos -- 

"Sorry about that," Porthos says, smiling ruefully -- 

"No, it -- I am more *accustomed* to mages coming into their power as adolescents, but I *have* heard of mages like you, as well." 

"Oh, yeah? From... your teachers?" 

Aramis thinks of Josette, who had done everything she could to *teach* him everything she could in the short time they'd had together -- "Yes," Aramis says, and doesn't elaborate. 

Porthos grins at him -- and then turns that grin on Blood. "I tried, mate." 

Blood sighs with gusty, put-on drama. "I appreciate it, *truly*." 

Athos hums. "I suppose it will be my turn next. But -- yes. I will *vastly* appreciate it if we simply *ask* each other the questions which come to mind," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Athos... is the only one of them who *isn't* a mage. 

Aramis blinks. He has been being *impolite*. "Athos -- I apologize --"

"For being who you are, Aramis?" And Athos cocks his head to the side and smiles warmly again. "I don't think I can let you do that." 

"You *will* let me apologize for not *thinking*." 

Athos's smile grows wide and -- somewhat wild. "Yes, I will. Apology accepted. Think of me often." 

"I..." 

Treville laughs, cupping the back of Athos's neck and shaking him back and forth as though he is a *boy* -- 

"Oh -- *sir* --" 

"You *earned* that, son, and you know it." 

"Hm. I deny everything --" 

"Let's go to my *study*. I can't decide if there's too much of my brandy in you or not *enough*." 

"Well, when he's paralytic and drooling, you'll surely form an opinion of *some* sort," Blood says. 

Porthos nods judiciously and then turns back to him. "What about you, mm? Willing to lose a *little* of that control tonight?" 

Absolutely not. "I..." 

Porthos laughs. "I'm only playing. I know you need it," he says, and cups Aramis's hand in his own before squeezing it gently. 

Aramis... would like to be at least a *fraction* as certain of what he needs.


	14. There are few things more intensely desirable than the happiness of an Aramis.

They all leave Aramis the armless couch he'd taken before, by unspoken agreement, but, to Porthos, he looks... lonely over there. 

Of course, to Porthos, he's *been* looking lonely. 

He knows the man *needs* to be able to get to his undoubtedly terrifying number of weapons in order to feel comfortable, but -- 

"Porthos? Are you well?" 

But they're all asking each other the questions in their heads, instead of letting them fester there. Right. Porthos looks up into Aramis's eyes, smiling ruefully and feeling everyone *else* looking at him. 

Worrying about him. 

"I couldn't help thinking you looked lonely on that big couch by yourself. Uh -- I'm *not* making a move on you --" 

"I -- no. I -- I could tell," Aramis says, blinking and blushing like a boy. 

He's been doing that a lot tonight. 

He's -- 

Beautiful. 

It does and doesn't feel disloyal to think that thought, because it's not like *their* Aramis had spent all that much time blushing, and Porthos had been -- *is* -- in love with him. 

But. 

It has to be all right to appreciate this, right? 

He's *Aramis* -- and he's staring at Porthos a little incredulously. 

"I uh. *Could* you tell?" 

"*Yes*. But... *lonely*? I *know* you know -- you *all* know -- that I prefer being able to reach my weapons --" 

"Oh, yeah, 'course, I *definitely* know I'm being ridiculous," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully -- 

"*Do* you?" 

Well, it's his turn to look caught-out. 

Jason hums from over by the fireplace -- which he'd re-lit with a bloody *gesture* a few minutes ago -- "He might have been smelling you without realizing it, Aramis." 

Fuck -- 

Aramis looks *horrified* -- 

"You're an arse, lover," Treville says, and leans forward in his beat-up throne of a chair. "He didn't smell you feeling lonely, Aramis."

"I --" 

"*I* would've smelled you feeling lonely if he had, and said something. Probably something less traumatic." 

"Or not," Jason says. 

"Or -- do we need to feed you a vegetable or something? Maybe a *grain*?" 

Jason pales. "Has the romance palled *already*?" 

"Ah, well, these whirlwind romances, you know..." And Aramis gives a studied shrug that's so much like what their own Aramis would do -- 

So much the *same* -- 

They're all staring. 

They're all --

And Aramis looks at all of them and nods once. "He would've said... something similar?" 

Porthos licks his lips -- "Uh. Yeah," he manages brilliantly. 

"Perhaps..." Aramis licks his lips. "No, I do not know what to say, in this moment," he says. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "It's all right, Aramis. There *will* be moments of breathtaking similarity, and we *will* deal with them." 

"Quite," Jason says. "The moments of shock, the losses of aplomb... well, they're a function of the fact that you've done an excellent job making us see you as your own person, as opposed to as a copy of the Aramis we lost." 

"Exactly," Treville says. "The two of you *did* have a lot in common, and it would be a terrible mistake to pretend you didn't, but -- you're your own man." 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "I feel as though I might serve you all better if I were *less* of my own man... but I do *know* what you will all say to that," he says. 

Treville growls. "Are you *sure* --" 

"I *am*, Treville. It is not my assignment to be your lost Aramis. It is not my assignment to be someone I'm not." 

They're all breathing a little easier for *that* -- 

And Treville nods. "Exactly. We need *you*, Aramis." 

"You --" Aramis *laughs* ruefully. "We will leave that for now." 

Treville grins. "Anything you need --"

And Athos cocks his head to the side. "Do you like to serve, Aramis?" 

Porthos *coughs* -- 

Aramis's eyes are wide *just* like he's realizing *belatedly* what he'd said before -- 

Porthos tries to think of a way to *deflect* Athos's question -- but. 

But Aramis looks *thoughtful* now. 

*Curious*. 

Bloody *introspective*. 

"Aramis...?" And Treville is lifting his nose a little. "All right?" 

"I -- yes, Treville. I was only..." Aramis shakes his head. "I would not have *chosen* to become an assassin, but... it has *allowed* me to be of service to *many*." 

They're all nodding for that. They -- 

"It's given you... satisfaction," Jason says, and it's not really a question. 

"Oh, yes. Often very much," Aramis says, and smiles wryly. "Though, of course, the most satisfying assignments were usually not the ones which paid very well."

Athos smiles. "I believe that's a rule of existence, Aramis." 

Aramis flashes that warm little smile at Athos -- "*I* believe you are absolutely correct." 

And Athos is staring more than a little. 

So is Porthos. 

So are Treville and Jason -- though Jason looks away after a moment to sit on the rugs by Treville's feet. 

Aramis hums. "I am being similar again. Tell me how, please." 

Athos inhales deeply, obviously looking at a memory -- "Our Aramis spoke eloquently and passionately about duty, honour, service... and other things of that sort. It was always clear that they affected him more deeply... that it was no mere *shallow* pleasure." 

Aramis narrows his eyes thoughtfully and nods. "He lived for these things." 

Athos frowns and shakes his head -- 

"No?" 

"I think..." And Porthos shivers as he remembers Aramis primping himself perfectly only to balance a melon on his head for Porthos to *shoot*. His smiles had always been so -- 

"Young," Athos says. "Free. His smiles were open and beautiful and -- he lived for those moments. When we were all together, acting the fool." 

Aramis looks back and forth between them. "What...? He lived for your... brotherhood?" 

Porthos shivers. "I think so, yeah. Or -- love, in general. His faith had a lot of love --" 

"*Yes*," Athos says. "His faith *was* love." 

"I think, maybe, he would've been happiest if he could... serve love," Porthos says, and tries *not* to think of all of his dreams -- 

All of his *fantasies* -- 

(I had them, too, brother...) 

Oh, *Athos* -- *fuck* -- 

And Treville clears his throat. Hard. 

They all look smart for that, even Aramis -- 

"Sons. Just how *many* times did Porthos *shoot* things off Aramis's *head*." 

"Uh..." 

"Well. Ah." 

"Wait, what?" Aramis stares at Porthos and Athos. "*That* is what you meant by 'acting the fool'? He let you shoot things off his *head*?" 

"To be fair," Porthos says -- 

"Wait," Treville says, and *looks* at Porthos. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Is whatever you're about to say next going to make this even worse?" 

Jason laughs *hard* -- 

Porthos thinks about it -- 

Thinks about how *much* drinking it usually took for him to get his shots perfect --

"Oh, for fuck's *sake*, son!" 

"Sir --" 

"Aramis, hit him." 

"I..." Aramis frowns. 

"No? You *don't* want to hit him? How about Athos for being a decidedly guilty bystander?" 

"I -- you say this made your Aramis *happy*?" 

Jason *wheezes* -- 

Treville scowls down at him. "That's *beside* the point --" 

"I do not think it *is*," Aramis says, and crosses his legs. I believe Athos and Porthos did these things in part to *see* your Aramis's happiness." 

"His smiles for it were... indescribable," Athos says. 

"Bloody *yes*. I'll *never* forget them." 

Aramis spreads his hands. "I apologize, Treville, but --" 

"Aramis. He shot *melons* off your head. There was sugar-water dripping all through your hair, bits of fruit and seeds all over your face and in your beard and moustache --" 

"Oh -- fuck," Aramis says, and recoils a bit. 

Jason is choking -- 

Treville *whacks* him on the back -- and *looks* at Aramis. 

Aramis winces. "I am afraid I must still side with your sons, Treville, but... I do see your point." 

Treville grunts. "*You* find *other* ways to serve. *Please*." 

"I!" 

Jason clears his throat and hums. "And on *that* note... shall we discuss your attraction to your father, Porthos?" 

Porthos manages not to spray his brandy all over the rugs, but it's a near thing. He's *absolutely* choking -- 

*While* thinking of Treville ordering him to do conditioning exercises while they're both naked -- 

And the push-ups rapidly get to be -- 

Oh, shit, it's the fantasy where Treville has his *foot* on Porthos's back -- 

"Oh," Athos says. "You, too?" 

Well, now Treville is choking. 

"You earned that, amant." 

"I -- *fuck*. I certainly did. Oh my -- *sons*. Can we -- no, we're *going* to talk about this." 

Aramis *sips* his brandy. "I am very curious to know what we are going to talk about." 

"Oh, yes, of course," Jason says. "Both Athos and Porthos have *very* extensive fantasies about Treville which are, shall we say, *disciplinary* in nature." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully and turns to Porthos. "You have wished your father to be a harder man than he is?" 

"Uhh..." 

Aramis turns to *Athos*. "Perhaps *you* have wished to serve?" 

Jason sighs like he's lying back in a hot bloody *bath*, leaning back against Treville's leg. 

"I --" Athos *looks* at Jason for a moment, and then turns back to Aramis. "I have *definitely* wished to serve. I have also thought extensively about Treville being more... serious with me than he often was when I was growing up. More... stern. Not necessarily harder." 

"I see!" And Aramis looks back to Porthos with his eyebrows up. 

He looks like he's bloody taking *notes* -- 

And Porthos is going to help him. "He's a hard man when he's being The Captain, Aramis. That's just -- just *hot* --" 

"Is he more attractive then than when he's being himself?" 

And... that's an important question on a lot of levels, Porthos thinks. 

That's an important question to a lot of people in this *room*. 

Porthos licks his lips. "I uh... have a *lot* of fantasies, Aramis." 

"About The Captain --" 

"About The Captain and about the *man*. Hell, I even have one really *odd* fantasy about Treville-the-courtier --" 

Treville chokes again -- 

"Yeah, I *know*, sir, but you were really pouring it *on* for the Queen that day, and it was *amazing*." 

"For the --" Treville looks at him. 

Porthos shrugs. "Aramis was with me that day, sir. You *know* how hot for her he was. It made it all a bit *fraught* when I was trying to keep my thoughts clean." 

Athos blinks. "Did you *talk* about the fantasies with him?" 

Porthos laughs. "I talked about *his* fantasies with him --" 

"We *all* talked about his fantasies with him -- there was no avoiding it -- but...." Athos frowns. 

Porthos knows what he's asking. He shakes his head. "No, brother. I could never quite... get this out of my mouth." 

Athos nods thoughtfully. "Did you think he would -- *we* would -- judge you for it?" 

"Not *that*. I knew I could trust you both not to do *that* --" 

"Truly?" And Aramis is studying him *keenly*. "Your Aramis was open to talking about the kinds of sexuality he denied himself?" 

"Well... yeah. It's part of what kept me... dreaming," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. 

Aramis nods slowly. "Then why *didn't* you tell?" 

"Well, uh..." And Porthos turns to Treville. "I've been thinking about that." 

"Have you, son?" 

"You were saying -- you had no *excuse* for the thoughts in your head --" 

"For the *fantasies* in my head," Treville says. "You're laying your cards on the table, and I'm damned well going to do the same." 

"Oh -- uh. All right." 

Treville blinks. "No, son? You're not comfortable with that?" 

"No, no, it's not that. I *want* you to talk about this -- uh, wait a minute, though?" 

"Of course. You go on and say what you need to say." 

"Right, I -- yeah. You were talking about having no *excuse* for your -- for your *fantasies*. And I got to wonder if I really did, *either* --" 

"*Son* --" 

"-- because I may not have *known* you were my father, but that didn't stop me from. From wanting you to be." 

Treville grunts -- 

Treville *stares* at him -- 

Porthos smiles ruefully and shrugs. 

Athos hums. "It's certainly made my own Treville-related masturbatory experiences rather painfully exciting." 

"Oh, brother, you, *too*?" 

Athos huffs. "This -- I can't help but wonder what our Aramis would've said in this moment. What he would've *admitted* to." 

Treville *blushes* -- 

*Jason* hums. "*Well*. Speaking as the person in this room who has spent the most time looking *in* on your and your brothers' private moments, Athos..." 

Athos huffs more. "That's remarkably horrifying." 

"Thank you *very* much," Jason says. "But...?" 

"Oh, yes, please do tell us," Athos says, grinning and slouching a little in his chair. He hasn't quite made it to a full-on Athosian drunken sprawl, but Porthos isn't entirely sure that's possible with Treville in the room. 

Maybe they'll find out. 

Jason looks directly at *Aramis* before saying, "The Aramis we lost would, quite often, kneel by the side of his bed and, *just* when I thought he was going to send himself on still another rousing round of fervently heretical Christian prayer, he would begin to speak.

"Fervently. 

"Passionately. 

"With increasing *desperation* --" 

"To *me*?" And Treville sounds incredulous. 

"To the phantom of you, amant --" 

"Why didn't you *tell* me?" 

"I was punishing you for not being *honest*." 

"Fuck -- *fuck* -- I wouldn't have done anything if you'd told me." 

"No, you *wouldn't* have." 

"I wouldn't -- I would've kept tossing myself *off* to him -- and Athos -- and *Porthos* --" Treville growls and snaps at the air. 

Jason pats his knee. "You know better now. Don't you." 

"Yes. I. Bloody. *Do*. What -- what was he *saying*?" 

"Apologies, requests to serve, fervent *pleas* to serve, pleas to *ease* you --" 

"What -- wait --" 

"Mm?" 

"What the bloody hell was he *apologizing* for?" 

"Making your life difficult," Jason says, and he's looking Aramis again. "Forcing you to... make an effort for him so very often." 

"But..." Treville frowns. 

"There was also gratitude, of course. And..." Jason closes his eyes and looks hurt, regretful, *hurt* -- 

"Lover...?" 

"*One* of the things I heard him express gratitude for more than once was for you being a father to him, amant --" 

Treville -- croons. Exactly like the dog he is. 

"More of a father than anyone -- I apologize. I shouldn't have waited for you. I should've *pushed* you --" 

"I shouldn't. I shouldn't have needed to be pushed," Treville says. "Not after losing my Amina-love, my brothers, my -- my Marie-*Angelique* --" 

"It has been my understanding -- for at least as long as this evening has lasted -- that grief and loss can make a man far more dim than he should be," Aramis says, gently and wryly. 

Treville stares at him as if he doesn't know what *language* he's speaking for a long moment -- 

Porthos reaches for him. "Sir..." 

Treville reaches back, gripping his hand and swallowing. "I'm -- I'm not going to say anything asinine about being 'all right', but --" He turns to Aramis. "You've been heard." And he grips the back of Jason's neck with his other hand. "And we *already* agreed to do better at talking to each other, lover." 

Aramis inclines his head. 

Jason winces. "There are times when I am only..." He shakes his head once and looks up. "When I met your father, it took me *minutes* to realize that I was falling in love with him. Part of that is a function of immortality. I simply haven't met many immortals who *do* have romantic relationships with mortals who don't *rush* things with *everyone* they have relationships with. You never know when it's all going to come to a *brutal* end, but you know -- with *painful* perfection -- that it *will* end. You *must* do everything quickly, get all of the *formalities* out of the *way*..." Jason bares his teeth -- 

Growls -- 

"I apologize. I don't mean to wander afield. This is all just to say that I don't always *trust* myself and my *motivations* when it comes to relationships. I have learned -- the hard way -- that there are some things that *cannot* be rushed for the other person, no matter how much *sense* it all seems to make, and that has *bled* into my *natural* caution, and into my natural *pettiness*. 

"I am at constant war with myself. Do I flog everyone around me to move faster and faster until they drop in the traces, cursing my name as they pant? Or do I hold back and let the people I love move as they *will*, being the *reasonable* man, the *caring* man, the *gentle* man... who watches them all lose everything they love *except* for me?

"Always, always me. I -- hnk --" 

Treville *holds* Jason by the hair -- 

Treville winds Jason's long hair around his brutal *fist* -- 

He yanks Jason's head *all* the way back -- 

Jason *coughs* -- 

"Do I have your attention, lover...?" 

"Yes --" 

"Our next mission -- along with teaching each other how to *talk* to each other properly -- is going to involve teaching *you* the meaning of bloody middle *ground*." 

"You don't know what it --" Jason coughs again -- "What it means, *either*!" 

"We'll do that, too," Treville says evenly. "Remember, lover -- you *gave* me immortality when I healed you --"

"Wait, *what* --" 

"Yes, sir, please explain --" 

"It is possible to *share* immortality?" 

And Treville tilts Jason's head forward just *enough* -- 

"Please *do* always remind me that you're just as much of a *bastard* as I am, amant." 

Treville shows his *teeth* --

"Bloody *hell*, you two, *explain*!" 

Jason licks his lips. "When your father saved my life, he, essentially, made the most powerful *possible* blood *sacrifice*." 

"But..." Porthos frowns. "He was just sharing blood with you." 

"He was *giving* a *massive* amount of his *life*-blood to a *stranger* for *free* -- he did not exact so much as a *promise* from me for it, simply trusting me to be a man of *honour* -- in a place where the earth had been so scarred by eldritch warfare that the magical energies were strong enough for even people *blind* to magic to feel," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And Porthos's jaw drops a little, because that... 

"Balance," Aramis says. "The spheres must always *balance* themselves..." 

*That*. 

Athos licks his lips. "I take it that the spheres balanced themselves by giving Treville immortality?" 

"Just so, Athos. I had never before been able to share my immortality -- which is functional rather than complete -- but Treville's actions, combined with the weight of power *in* the proverbial balance... well," Jason says, and smiles. "The way it works, in brief, is that I have the ability to heal from many, many, *many* different things -- and the ability to renew myself *after* I've healed with relative ease." 

Porthos nods. "Nice, that." 

"Yes, that's incredibly *useful*," Athos says. 

"I'm very glad you think so, sons, because the second Jason bound you, he gave you the same gift." 

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the crackling and popping of the fire -- and then Aramis claps his hands and laughs *delightedly*. "You *have* learned not to wait!" 

Treville smiles warmly at him -- and winks. "I can be taught." 

Aramis laughs *more* -- 

It's a bloody wonderful *sound* -- 

Athos is drinking it in what looks like *helplessly*, but -- 

But -- 

Jason is smiling at *him*. 

With *all* of his teeth. 

"Right, both of you are *arseholes*," Porthos says. 

"That we are, son." 

"Very, very, true," Jason says -- 

"You could've just *told* us!" 

"Yes, truly," Athos says. "We were in a very impressionable mood at various points during the day." 

"Yes, we -- Athos." 

"Mm?" 

"Be *angry* with me." 

"I'm afraid I'd rather listen to Aramis laugh again." 

"Right, well, that's *fair* --" 

"I felt certain you'd see it that way --" 

"It's a really *good* laugh --" 

"Yes, and it's not that our Aramis's laughter wasn't wonderful --" 

"Right, I *lived* for it a lot of the time --" 

"As did I --" 

"But that was... new. Different," Porthos says, licking his lips and turning to Aramis. "So what *else* gets you to laugh like that?" 

Aramis stares at them, blinking, for long moments -- and then he looks down and smiles wryly. "I do not usually laugh like this." 

"Hm. Perhaps..."

"*Perhaps* it's time for some experimentation," Porthos says, rubbing his hands together. "Athos, isn't it your turn to be ridiculous?" 

"Probably? The only thing I can think to do, however, is stab myself and not die." 

Porthos stares at him. 

Treville and Jason look *stricken* -- 

But Aramis goes off into *peals* of laughter, and that. 

"Right, Athos, talk more." 

"I..." Athos makes stabbing motions at himself. 

Aramis *giggles* -- 

Porthos turns to Jason and whispers, loudly, "Whatever you put in his drink, make sure you have enough for the next few weeks." 

Jason nods sagely and taps his nose.


	15. In which a married couple communicates very, very well.

Jason lounges on Treville's massive, overly-soft bed and waits -- very patiently -- for Treville to *join* him instead of pacing the bedroom like it's a cell. No, wait, they're *communicating* now. "Amant, what *is* it?" 

"I -- did we talk enough? Tonight?" 

Ah. "No." 

"*Damn* --"

"But we *will* talk *more* *tomorrow*." 

Treville pauses by the desk -- 

Toys with the correspondence there -- 

*Growls* -- 

"Amant." 

"I -- I've gotten in the habit of having my best conversations, my most *productive* conversations, one-on-one. Or, at most --" 

"You've gotten in the *habit* of imparting wisdom as the kindly and gentle-when-needed Captain --" 

"Oh -- fuck --" 

"-- who is never *especially* close to his men --" 

"*Jason* --" 

"Am I *wrong*?" 

Treville bares his teeth at the desk -- Jason can just see his face in profile. "You're not wrong." 

"Well?" 

"I'm." Treville sighs -- 

Growls -- 

Sighs more -- and comes to bed. 

"*Thank* you --" 

Treville bites small kisses up the center line of Jason's belly and chest -- 

"Oh, *that's* lovely -- hm. I don't think I should let you distract us." 

"Probably not, no," Treville says, and bites Jason's *throat* -- 

Holds it in his *teeth* -- 

Growls and *lifts* Jason by his *grip* -- 

"*Fuck*, amant --" 

(You definitely shouldn't let me distract us.) 

Jason *wheezes* a laugh -- and forces shadows into Treville's mouth until he has to cough and pull back and shake himself like the great hound he is. 

"Glih -- fuck -- that wasn't *fair* --" 

"You did *say* --" 

"You didn't have to *listen*," Treville says, and throws himself down beside Jason. "I feel like I've been gargling *silk*." 

"I know, I know, you much prefer gargling other things --" 

"Yes, I *do* -- but. We have to talk," Treville says, and sighs again. 

And smiles ruefully across the pillows at him -- 

And reaches to cup and stroke his cheek and chin. He -- 

"Still fascinated by my beardlessness...?" 

"It's so *complete*. You've only let me see you with stubble *once*, and that time we'd been battling demons for nearly a solid *week*." 

Jason blinks. "I... could let you see me with stubble more often...?" 

Treville smiles. "Not if it would bother you, lover. I know you like to stay clean and neat." 

And that... "One *might* say I enjoy contrasts, hound." 

"Oh, no, if you're calling on the dog in me, then we're not doing *any* talking --"

Jason laughs hard. "I *apologize*." 

"You're an *arse*." 

"Yours, always," Jason says, and stares into Treville's pale eyes -- 

Lets himself *think* about the fact that 'always' can actually mean something *substantial* with this man -- 

If they're just a *little* lucky -- 

Treville flares his nostrils. "What are you thinking, mm? Your scents got a little... I'm not sure. Stunned, maybe?" 

Jason laughs more, leaning over to kiss Treville again -- 

And again and again -- 

(Mm -- you'll note me behaving and not making this serious --) 

Mm-hmm... 

(-- yet...) 

Jason kisses him *again* and pulls back -- 

"Not that you had to do that --" 

"Amant -- Aramis dropped his *guards* tonight." 

"I noticed, but --" 

"I can't -- we both know what it *is* to do that. What it *means* to do that after you've had your guards *up* for *years*." 

Treville shivers. "He's going to rapidly become desperate for that feeling. Hungry. *Needy*." 

"*Yes*," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "The way I am..." 

Treville blinks. "Jason...?" 

"I've been alone, or nearly so, for so very long..." Jason shakes his head and strokes Treville's soft beard. "I was too much of a coward to warn you that you'd almost certainly be taking immortality from me at the time, but when you *did* take it -- take it and *run* with it -- 

"Run with it at my *side*... well, I've been too *stunned* to do much more than accept it gratefully and hope for more, and more, and more than that. I am... greedy for you." 

Treville growls and grips Jason's wrist hard. 

Jason grunts -- 

"First? Don't call yourself a coward. You've never been a coward and you never *could* be a coward." 

"Amant --" 

"Do you *understand*." 

Jason pants -- and licks his lips. "Amant... are you... ordering me? Setting the rules?" 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "Yes." 

Jason feels himself staring *wonderingly* -- and smiles. "Then yes, amant. I *do* understand, and agree, and give you my allegiance." 

"Oh, lover..." Treville growls, leaning in and biting all over Jason's face -- 

"Yes -- *yes* --" 

"What *serious* things do we need to talk about?" 

"Fuck -- you still need to talk to your sons --" 

"About the attraction among us, and what we are and *aren't* going to do about it. Yes, you're absolutely right." 

"And --" 

"Where they're going to live? *Here*. But *they* need to know that, yes." 

Jason shivers -- 

Treville licks a stripe from Jason's chin to his temple. "What else?" 

"Nnh -- we can *offer* immortality to Aramis --" 

"But we can't push him to take it. We can't push him *too* hard in *any* way, because then he might start resenting how hard he's pushing *himself*." 

"Oh, fuck, amant, *yes* --" 

"What *else*." 

"Nothing -- nothing right now --" 

"Get a shadow up your arse. *Nice* and big and slick," Treville says, rolling over on top of Jason and kissing him -- 

Kissing his *yell* as Jason obeys -- 

Sucking it into his own mouth and *grinding* their cocks together -- 

Treville's *sheath* is already pulled back --

Jason makes the shadow *thicker* and groans for it, laps at Treville's tongue -- 

Treville *unfurls* the dog's tongue into Jason's mouth, and Jason bucks -- 

Bucks again when dropping back down pushes the shadow *deeper* -- 

(That's right, lover. You know you have to take it.) 

*Fuck* -- 

(You know you have to take it for *me*.) 

Yes -- *yes* -- 

(So, let's help you do just that,) Treville says, pulling back out of the kiss, shifting his tongue back to human, and kneeling between Jason's legs before gripping Jason's hips and *grinding* him down onto the shadow -- 

And up off it a *little* -- 

And down *onto* it -- 

He *holds* Jason there -- 

Jason is gasping and clenching and *flexing* -- 

Treville is licking his *teeth* -- "Such a good boy you are. Getting your arse in shape for me..." 

Jason hears himself make a strangled noise as he bucks again -- 

*Again* -- 

And then he feels Treville taking more power from the All-Mother -- 

His eyes are gleaming *hot* -- and he holds Jason still. 

Jason *grunts*. "Amant --" 

"I think it's time for you to take what I *give* you, lover..." 

Jason groans, cock jerking again and again and -- 

He hasn't truly *had* this -- 

Not with someone he could *trust* -- 

Not with someone he could *keep* -- 

"I'm *yours*," Treville snarls, shoving him down on the shadow -- 

Jason *shouts* -- 

"Make it *thicker*." 

Jason *obeys*, gasping and *glassy-eyed* with it, and his cock is spattering his own belly, the sheets --

And the slick is *copious*, but the shadow is thick enough now that Treville is working him *slowly*, up and down so *slowly* -- 

Fucking him so --

"Please, harder!" 

"Really." 

"Unh -- *yes*, *please*!" 

"Even though you're *going* to get my knot in just a little while...?" 

Jason shudders and laughs -- "Amant, do you have any *idea* how *hard* it is not to give my *shadows* knots when we're not together?" 

Treville grins. "But you know you have to keep yourself *fresh* for me..." 

"*Fuck* --" 

"Here, get that shadow out..." 

"Nnh -- yes, amant --" And Jason makes sure to do it fast and violently, makes sure to do it *meanly* -- 

Treville *growls* -- "Slick my *hand*." 

"*Yes*, amant --" 

"Perfect," Treville says, and shoves in with *three* fingers and immediately begins fucking him, opening him, making him *ready* for his knot -- 

It's all Jason can do not to *drool* -- 

"You know I like you messy, lover..." 

Jason immediately opens his mouth and groans, licks his lips, lets Treville fuck every noise out of him, every -- 

He bites his own *lip* -- 

The scents of his blood rise -- 

And Treville snarls and swipes it off Jason's face with the fingers of his free hand before sucking those fingers into his mouth. (Get messy in ways I don't *immediately* have to *clean*, lover.) 

Jason laughs hard -- 

Clenches and *gasps* -- 

Clenches *again* -- 

(Or do that...) And Treville starts *reaming* him with his thick, callused fingers, shoving in and in -- 

Crooking all three and *working* Jason's pleasure-button -- 

Jason groans and shares his ache; his need; his thrumming, desperate pleasure for the way Treville is stretching him wide -- 

So *wide* -- 

Treville likes his lovers loose and *sloppy* -- 

It's just one perversity among *many* for a man with a cock like *that* -- 

*Treville* laughs hard. "Are you *complaining*, lover?" 

"Not -- not at *all*. *Do* stretch me out of shape. You've already -- already ruined me for other men in every single *other* way," Jason says, blushing hard and feeling more honest, more himself, more *naked* than he has in -- too long -- 

Treville pants -- "We'll be naked for each other all the bloody *time*," he says, twisting his fingers -- 

Jason *groans* -- 

And Treville *screws* his fingers in -- 

Screws them in again and again -- 

Jason pants and realizes that he's swallowing back *saliva* -- he stops that. 

He *lets* himself *drool* -- 

Treville *yips* and *crooks* -- 

*Rewards* him -- 

Jason *sobs* -- 

Grins *messily* -- 

And bites his lip again -- 

"*Fuck* -- you -- *Jason*," Treville says, gripping Jason's *throat* with his free hand and *shaking* him a little before he gets control and can move that hand back down to Jason's arse -- 

Spread Jason *wide* -- 

And start pushing in with a fourth finger. 

"Yes! *Yes*, *please* --" 

"You *want* it." 

"Yes --"

"*Say* it!" 

"I want it! I want you! I want you *forever*!" 

Treville snarls -- "I'll never *leave* you by *choice*," he says, pushing in harder, faster -- 

He's not being *gentle* -- 

Jason never bloody wants him to be *gentle* -- 

"You won't *have* it!" 

Jason laughs hungrily, brokenly, breathlessly, *desperately* -- 

"*Tell* me!" 

"You -- you've always been too *perfect*!" 

"I *haven't*. But perfect is *exactly* what you deserve," Treville says, and starts fucking him *hard* with his four fingers -- 

Starts -- 

Jason is gasping -- 

Jason is gripping at the sheets with his fingers and *toes* -- 

Jason is *sobbing* -- and Treville is growling under his breath, eyes gleaming and teeth lengthening -- 

He's losing control. 

The All-Mother gave him *exactly* too much power for him to hold *on* to his control when he's this -- 

When Jason has *made* him this -- 

"Needy. *Hungry*," Treville says, and he's chewing out the words, *panting* -- "Open. *Up*," he says, twisting his fingers --

Jason *howls* -- 

Treville yips and fucks him fast, *fast* -- 

"Please, amant, *now*, *now* --" 

Treville snarls again -- 

Grips him by the *throat* again -- 

Squeezes *tightly* -- and pulls out as steadily as he can. It's obvious that he's straining -- his hands are *shaking* and he's not pulling out *slowly* -- but he's Treville, and he's experienced, and he'll never hurt a lover in a way they don't love. 

Treville whuffs out a breath -- 

Stares *into* him -- 

And Jason can only smile, only blow smoky kisses and *smile* -- 

"I *love* you," Treville growls, pulling out the rest of the way -- 

Jason cleans his hand with a shadow -- 

"One day you're going to forget and set me on *fire* to clean me --" 

"*Amant* --" 

"I'll forgive you, but it'll be -- mm, no, we'll revisit that later. Slick my *cock* -- *NNGH* --" 

"I thought -- you might appreciate something tight... for a change..." 

Treville laughs *hard* -- 

*Fucks* the shadow around his cock *brutally* -- 

Jason's *eyes* roll up -- 

He can feel Treville fucking him all over, all through him, all through his *magic* -- 

"You're *mine*!" 

Jason grips his own balls and *yanks* so he won't *spend* -- 

"Oh, lover... I didn't give you permission to do that..." 

Jason *grunts*, eyes flying open again -- "Amant --" 

"Shh. Get this shadow off my cock. Nice and slow and gentle," Treville says, slowing his thrusts to a stop. 

Jason *obeys* -- 

And Treville's cock is slick, dripping, red, *thick* -- 

His knot is wide and throbbing with his *pulse* -- 

It's a sight Jason has seen *many* times at this point, but it's always mouth-watering, always *ache*-inducing -- 

"Is it, now..." And Treville does *something* with his power -- and *roots* grow up from the floor beneath the rugs to either side of the bed -- 

*Grip* Jason by the *ankles* and spread him *wider* -- "Amant -- *fuck* -- did you think I'd try to get *away*?" 

Treville grins. "I don't think you should go *anywhere*, Jason. *I* don't think you should even *breathe*." 

"What --" 

And then a vine *whips* up over the side of the bed and *chokes* him -- 

Lashes him to the bed and *chokes* him -- 

Jason *stares* at Treville -- 

Treville lets his tongue *peek* out between his teeth -- and starts pushing in with his cock *slowly*. 

Please! Please, faster! 

"Did you want to *spend* faster, lover...?" 

I...

Treville starts *rocking* his way in -- 

Inch by *tortuously* slow *inch* -- 

"I think -- nn. I think you should have thought of that before you broke the *rules*..." 

There was a *rule*? 

"I'm almost *certain*, lover..." And Treville pushes in-in-*in* -- 

Jason tries and fails to *gasp* -- 

Flexes *open* -- 

"Oh, good *boy*..." 

*Fuck* -- 

"Always so ready for a good, hard *fuck*," Treville says, pulling most of the way out and shoving in *viciously* hard -- 

Jason *strains* against the roots and vines -- 

Strains to *scream* -- 

Strains to *grip* at Treville with his thighs and pull him in again, again, *again* -- 

"I can hear you just fine, Jason... and you're just going to lie there and *take* it," Treville says, and grips Jason's *cock* -- 

Howling *banshees*, man -- 

Treville yips -- 

Pants -- 

Yips again and starts to rock *slowly* again -- 

No! 

"I don't think I gave you permission to *refuse* me, lover..." 

Jason's stomach *drops* -- 

Treville shows his *teeth* -- and *squeezes* Jason's cock -- 

Jason tries to scream, tries to buck, realizes his *arms* are still free and *reaches* for Treville -- 

Treville *nips* Jason's fingers -- 

Licks them -- 

Slurps away *sweat* -- 

Jason groans in his chest and -- 

And his heart is pounding -- 

He has no *idea* when he last took a deep *breath* -- 

"You don't have to know," Treville says, and shoves *deep* again -- 

*Again* -- 

And starts fucking him hard -- 

So -- 

Treville's cock is so hot inside him, so slick, so -- 

His knot is *slapping* against Jason's stretched-wide *hole* -- 

He's giving Jason the *long* strokes the man in him loves, craves, needs, *demands* -- and there are never very many. 

The dog's demands are always louder -- 

The dog's demands are -- are -- 

But Treville's thick cock *spasms* inside Jason -- 

Jason tries and fails to gasp again -- 

Treville *growls* -- 

Fucks him *harder* -- 

Leans in and *grips* Jason's wrists, shoving them down to the bed and -- 

Looming over him, taking him over -- 

Fucking him *harder*, and the strokes are getting shorter every time, every -- 

Shorter *with* every stroke, and Treville is growling, tossing his head, *snarling* -- 

He shoves *hard* -- 

The frontal curve of his knot slips *in* -- 

Jason clenches helplessly and howls in his *mind* -- 

Treville darts in and bites Jason's *cheek* -- 

His *teeth* are lengthening again -- 

He never stops *fucking* Jason -- 

Never stops -- 

And there are black flowers blooming in Jason's vision, so -- 

Treville fucks him faster, *faster*, giving Jason his knot *that* way -- 

Forcing it in with the relative ease of long *practice* -- 

It's so good -- 

It's so big and so hot and so -- 

It's so *good*, and Jason would be tossing his head, too, if he could, Jason would be screaming, begging -- 

"You. *Are*," Treville says, and bites his cheek again, and his ear, and his *throat* -- 

*Holds* Jason's throat and *shoves* his knot *in*, all the way *in* -- 

Jason's vision blanks -- 

His own cock is jerking and leaking and *aching*, and he can't -- 

He needs -- 

He *needs* -- 

(I know what you need...) And Treville bites him *harder*, breaks the *skin* -- 

*Slurps* up Jason's blood, binding and re-binding them again -- 

(*Forever*!) And Treville starts to rut, starts to fuck him *hard*, starts to *rut* -- 

Starts to -- 

And every thrust *slams* against Jason's pleasure-button -- 

And his heart is thundering like hooves -- 

And he aches in every best way -- 

And his body, his soul, his magic, his *being* all belong to this man, this perfect -- 

Jason feels himself dropping -- 

Feels himself giving everything he *is* -- 

Treville gasps -- but doesn't hesitate before he bites even *deeper* -- 

Before he ruts even *harder* -- 

Before he *takes*, and Jason spurts and shouts for it inside them both, spurts and smiles, spurts and gives himself even more -- 

There's nothing *better* -- 

(I'll never let you *go*!) 

Jason spurts again and tries to scream -- 

His vision blanks again -- 

His mind *stutters* -- 

And then he's gasping, shuddering, aching -- the vine around his throat is gone --

He's gasping into Treville's loose, biting, *messy* kisses as Treville *milks* Jason's cock for *more* -- 

It *aches* -- 

"*Give* it to me!" 

Jason shocks himself by shouting and spilling over Treville's hand -- 

And Treville grins *savagely*, *hungrily* -- "You're *mine* and I'm *yours*, and I'm going to make you feel it for the rest of *eternity*," he says, choking Jason *loosely* with his messy fist and gripping Jason by the hair with his other hand -- 

Fucking him *violently* -- 

Jason can't stop *smiling* -- 

Jason can't catch a full breath and he can't stop *smiling* -- 

"Oh, lover -- oh -- oh, *lover* --" And Treville bites his lips, his cheeks, his ears -- 

Treville makes the roots spread Jason *wider* and *drives* into him -- 

It's so hot -- 

It's so -- 

"I *need* you!" Treville says -- snarls in Jason's *face* --

"Have I -- have I mentioned -- that I've *completely* closed up shop across the Channel...?"

"*HNH* --" 

And Jason laughs breathlessly, happily, so *bloody* happily, as Treville grips him tightly enough to *bruise*, howls, and spends right up his arse. 

Yes, yes, *yes* -- 

Jason wallows in the feeling, wallows in being tied and filled and *loved* -- 

Wallows in being *bound* -- and rather a bit more than that...

Treville howls *more* -- 

Howls *triumphantly* -- 

Yes, Treville knows exactly what Jason had done, knows exactly how many ways a blood-mage can *bind* himself to another mage -- 

Treville knows that Jason had given him *power* -- *true* power -- over Jason... and likes it. 

*Appreciates* it. 

"That's --" Treville coughs -- and grins down at him, tongue lolling a little. "That's damning with faint praise, lover." 

Jason grins back. "I never have to hold *back* with you!" 

Treville licks his lips -- 

Rocks in a little deeper as his knot swells -- 

Pants and *croons* -- 

Jason sends shadows to soothe him all over -- 

"Oh -- hrrrn. Thank you, lover." 

"Of course --" 

"And it would break me if I thought that I'd made you feel like you had to hold back from me." 

Jason inhales sharply. "Amant..." 

Treville shakes his head. "You already know how much time my *other* brothers and I spent holding back from each other, because of all the *fear* in our hearts." 

"I do --" 

"I can't have that with you, Jason. I can't have anything *like* that with you." 

Jason winces. "I... I wish, so badly, that I hadn't held *anything* back from you --" 

Treville holds up a hand. "We're both making amends for that kind of behaviour. We're both..." He licks his lips. "You just made it so that you never *can* hold back from me anymore. You won't -- *can't* -- keep a single secret from me, anymore." 

Jason breathes. "It took too long for me to... trust." 

"It took too long for me to *earn* that trust," Treville says, and looks at him *sternly*.

And that... Jason laughs. 

Jason laughs hard and ruefully and -- 

And keeps laughing even when Treville uses his rough fingers to stroke Jason's determinedly beardless cheeks. 

"You just tell me on your own time, lover." 

"Oh, no, I -- I won't make you *wait*," Jason says, and tries to sober himself -- 

"You may have noticed that I have a certain fondness for your teasing..." 

"Oh -- amant." 

Treville winks at him. "Tell me, then." 

"I was laughing because..." And Jason smiles wryly. "I can't believe I'm shocked, at this late date, by the fact that I needed a lover who is a *scrupulously* fair-minded *soldier* who holds himself to the most *exacting* possible standards at *all* times." 

And Treville looks confused for *just* a moment -- and then his jaw drops. "Did you just compare me to *King Arthur*?" 

Jason laughs *evilly*. "And Ser Darwyn. It seems reasonable enough that I've met men like you and your sons now --" 

"*Jason* --" 

"Once or twice per millennium seems *about* right --" 

Treville chokes and covers him, grips him, banishes the roots and rolls them onto their sides -- 

Jason grunts and laughs more -- 

And Treville licks him all over his face while they arrange their legs into the best possible braid. 

They've done this many times, too. 

They've *had* this. 

And they'll continue to have it.


	16. He's totally just wandering around looking for a hot toddy.

Aramis cannot sleep. 

This is irritating, and worrying, but, most of all, it is *confusing*. He has been able to put himself to sleep with ease for *years*. 

He has been able to do it in palaces, hovels, forest clearings, and filthy alleys. 

He has been able to do it when he *knew* he wasn't safe — when he was, in fact, surrounded by enemies!

He *is* safe here, but...

This is the second night in a row that he is having trouble. 

There is much that is strange about this situation, but he cannot allow himself to lose a *skill* — or. 

Perhaps he should think about why he cannot sleep *tonight*, after he has spent time laughing, and talking about many personal things, and laughing more...

Aramis paces to the shadow by his smallest window. The view is not the best one from these rooms, but it is the safest. 

He has stripped down to his breeches and the knives strapped to his arms for sleep. He doesn't want to dress again just to take in the more boring parts of Paris by night. 

He — 

No. 

He is thinking. 

He is thinking — and... it does not take much. 

It is *easier* to be surrounded by people who wish to kill you — and who have the means to do so — than it is to be surrounded by people who wish to *know* you — and who have the means to make *that* happen. 

Aramis is not certain if that statement was problematic. 

He knows it would be for *most* people, but most people are fools who have no true idea what it *is* to be known. 

What it *means*. 

Aramis knows that it means feeling... bare. 

Naked. 

*Raw* — no. 

Or... perhaps? It had not *hurt* to be so naked in front of these men. He had been sensitive, but there had been an exquisiteness to that, like being naked — or nearly so — on silk. There had been — 

And Aramis realizes that he's stroking the hair on his chest with his fingertips. That he's mussing it and neatening it and mussing it again — 

Like a *restless* lover...

Aramis flushes and licks his lips. 

He is not surprised by his desire for these men. For *any* of these men. 

They are *emotional*, and — and *pushy*, but these are not necessarily —

They do not have to be —

He is *safe* —

And Aramis realizes that he's having half of an argument... while stroking his own mouth. 

He can't — 

He cannot do that. 

He cannot do *this*, because he *does* know himself — if decreasingly well — and he recognizes the signs of himself moving toward *recklessness*. 

All because...

But why?

Because the men are beautiful? 

Because they are hungry? 

Because they are *needy*? 

This — this would not be so *bad*. Aramis is *allowed* to serve his needs — and his need to serve others. 

But... 

Aramis strongly suspects that what is driving him, right now — 

What is driving him to *touch* himself and dream of *being* touched — 

Are the memories of his own laughter. 

His laughter with other *people*, and how it had sounded so natural, felt so *natural* — 

It had made them all so *happy*, and that is good, that is *good* — 

But it's even better that it felt like — 

Like...

He does not think he has the words for it. 

The *sense* of it is his mother's perfume, his mother's fingers in his hair, teaching himself languages in the parlor of Madame Margaud's while lounging attractively — 

His fingers are shaking on his own lips. 

His body is — aching. 

He would like... more. 

Just... more. 

And there would be no harm in leaving his rooms and... 

It is not as if he would be going to anyone *else's* rooms — 

He will go to the library, or the study. 

He will calm himself.

Yes. 

He pulls on a shirt, and trousers — 

Socks and shoes — 

He goes. 

And surprises no part of himself when he goes directly to the study — especially not his magic, which could tell that the study was occupied. 

He has not been *reaching* with his magic, but — 

But there's only so much he *can* tamp himself down, at this point. 

There's only so much he can make himself *innocuous* — 

Aramis does not know who he's making excuses to. 

He does not think it's Porthos, who looks up when Aramis walks in and smiles. 

"You can't sleep, either?" 

"I... no. Usually I have no trouble, but..." Aramis spreads his hands. And moves closer. 

Porthos smiles wider — and gestures to the armless couch.

Aramis pauses — but doesn't truly ask himself any questions before he moves close to Porthos, close enough that they *can* share breaths if they wish — 

"Oh. Aramis...?" 

"Perhaps... you will tell me why *you* can't sleep," Aramis says, resting his fingers on the back of Porthos's hand and looking at Porthos's mouth. 

Porthos inhales *sharply* — 

Aramis lets himself wince with *lust* — 

And Porthos laughs softly. "Oh, Aramis... this is one of the reasons."

Aramis touches his tongue to his upper lip. "Yes...?" 

"Don't — don't seduce me. You don't have to," Porthos says, and steps *back*. 

Aramis blinks — and flushes. "This does not seem to be the case." 

"You'd *think* so — I just want. I want the laughing man. The prickly man. The man with all the weapons. The man with all the secrets. You don't have to make yourself... easier for me. Or gentler." 

Aramis — is raw again. *Sensitized*, just that *quickly*. 

"How do I get that, mm? How —" 

"Tell me — tell me what *about* this is stealing your sleep," Aramis says, and he does not know what to do with his hands, but at least that was a reasonable-enough question. 

And Porthos is looking at him... steadily. Hungrily. *Ruefully*. 

It is a complicated look, a *full* look, and there are *many* parts of Aramis which want to raise an eyebrow — no. 

No. 

Porthos had claimed to desire honesty, more than anything else. 

Porthos, Aramis thinks, can be trusted with such things more than *he* can. So. 

He raises an eyebrow in *pointed* question — 

And Porthos smiles at him again — 

And reaches out to cup his face. 

"You're so..." Porthos licks his lips. "But I owe you an answer —" 

"Finish that statement *first*!" 

Porthos *laughs* — and it's just as staggering as it always is. "You're so *sharp*. You're so *cautious*. You're so... mm. You're like a *cat*." 

"I... mew?" 

Another laugh. "Well, I suppose you *could* give me a new fixation or two if you wanted to —" 

"*Porthos* —" 

"No?" And Porthos smiles at him warmly and strokes his cheek with his rough thumb. He — 

Aramis's face hurts, and he realizes that he wants to be smiling. He smiles —

"Oh — Aramis..." 

"Tell me —" 

"Right — right." And Porthos licks his lips. "I was... feeling disloyal. *Unfaithful*. And I think you can guess why." 

Aramis — does not let himself shudder. 

He is not smiling anymore. 

He — steps back. 

"You didn't have to do that." 

"I believe I did, Porthos." 

Porthos inhales and shivers. "You're two different men. I was in here... no." 

"No?" 

"*One* of the things I was doing in here was reminding myself of that fact. Reminding myself that if I'd ever had the two of you in one room that I'd *never* have any difficulty telling you apart —" 

"Then perhaps you merely feel guilty for... reaching for something lesser." 

"Uh." 

Aramis raises his eyebrow again. "You know what you want. You know who you love — who you are *in* love with —" 

"*Aramis* —" 

"You know who I am *not* —" 

"And I — no. I *don't* know who you are. Not enough. Not —" And Porthos shakes his head and licks his lips again. "But I already know that it won't *be* enough." 

Aramis frowns. "I don't... what does this mean?" 

Porthos steps closer — 

Aramis — does not step back — 

He should step *back* — 

He *must* — 

"Aramis... I already know I'm not going to get enough. I already know that I'm going to want more of you —" 

"Wait —" 

"— and more than that, and more than *that*..." And Porthos smiles ruefully. "I need to know you."

That was honest. 

That was — 

That was what *most* of Aramis *came* to the study for, what he *wanted*, and now that he has it... 

"Aramis...?" 

"I do not know... how I feel about this," Aramis says, and struggles not to look away. 

Porthos breathes deeply, deeply. "That's fair." 

"Is it?" 

"Yeah, it is. Because... I don't think you've known anyone like me before." 

Aramis laughs *hard* — 

And Porthos grins. "That shocked you a *little* bit..." 

"You don't *think* I've known anyone like you before, Porthos?" 

"Well... maybe when you were younger?" 

Aramis smiles, helplessly. He does not feel knowing. He does not feel wise. He does not feel *safe*, except that he does, and he does not know what that means. 

"Were you at a Madame Margaud's...?" 

"I — yes. I enjoyed it there very much." 

Porthos flares his nostrils and nods slowly, taking it in. "Did you like... no. Please, tell me something you liked." 

Aramis cocks his head to the side. 

"Please," Porthos says, and his eagerness is... obvious. *True*. 

For him. "I liked... advertising." 

"Mm?" 

"By the time I was considered old enough *to* be offered to the clients, my mother had been the Madame's secretary for quite some time. She had... a great deal of power. *She* decided what I would and would not do." 

"Oh, yeah, eh? What did she want you to do?" 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "I was an eager boy. A curious and... impatient boy..." 

"I'm shocked." 

Aramis hums. "Yes, I see this thing. I wished to begin selling myself immediately. I had already received many looks from the men who had seen me speaking with the women or the other, older children — and I knew well how to *price* those looks." 

"I bet you *did*," Porthos says, and grins. 

His grin is easy, proud, open. 

He is not judging. 

He is not *disgusted*, or — 

Or any of those other things. 

Aramis nods internally — a part of him had already known it would be so, with Porthos. 

With all of these men — but perhaps especially with Porthos. And — he is smiling again. 

They both are. "My mother, she compromised with me." 

"*Did* she, now. You must have been a right terror for her not to just put her foot down and have it *work*." 

"Ah, well..." And Aramis shrugs. 

Porthos laughs. "I'm putting down 'never get between Aramis and sex' as a truth of the spheres." 

Aramis grins. "Perhaps this would be wise, yes." 

"I..." 

"Yes, Porthos?" 

"I'd like to touch you again." 

"A kiss?" 

Porthos laughs *more* — "I'd like to kiss you all *night*, but..." 

"But you still need more from me." 

"Just a little —"

"A little...?" 

"Fuck, I need everything from you," Porthos says, laughing still *more*, and he is beautiful, so beautiful, so — "Tell me how your mother compromised with you? I'll tell *you* everything." 

Aramis shocks himself with a growl — 

"No?" 

"*Yes*, I — I want to know *you* —" 

"Oh, Aramis —" 

"She let me *always* do my studies in the parlor if I wished, or out in front of the house. She knew I *would* do my studies — I never shirked! — and it was always so *pleasurable* to do them while..." 

"Advertising." 

"Just so. This time, I would sit on the hearth with my lips pursed just so. *This* time, I would lie on my belly on the rugs, with the very slightest of frowns creasing my forehead. *This* time, I would wander through the parlor with my — slim — book in my hand and a *dreamy* expression on my face —" 

"Oh my *God*." 

Aramis grins. "Yes? Which one would have worked on you?" 

"I —" And Porthos blushes and grins, as well. "Yeah, I *do* like going with younger people sometimes." 

Aramis spreads his hands, perhaps a little too impatiently, but – "These things happen. Now tell me —" 

"*All* of them would've *worked*, because you're bloody gorgeous —" 

"This is not a satisfying answer!" 

Porthos laughs more — "But listen — I *don't* go with younger people unless they, you know, make it clear that *they* want me. Otherwise I feel too much like a *predator*." 

Aramis *stares*. 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "That seems strange to you?" 

"I — *you* know more about selling yourself than you have said." 

"I —" Porthos blinks. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I *completely* forgot that you didn't know —" 

"Didn't know *what* —" 

"I came up hard, in the Court of Miracles. I sold myself all the time when I was a boy, before I figured out how to sharp well." 

Aramis stares.

"Mm?" 

"I... Athos knows this? Your father?" 

Porthos *starts* to raise his eyebrows again — and stops. "They do, yeah. My Aramis and I... well, I think you know they don't always pay us so well...?" 

And Treville had said — "I... remember that Treville knows you sell yourself now..."

"There are prettier names for it when you're a King's man —" 

"But you *do*." 

"Needs must," Porthos says, and smiles wryly — but only for a moment before he frowns. "Aramis... will you tell me why you have so much shame about this? Will you tell me... who hurt you?" 

"Was your Aramis so free of shame? So free of... I am not certain how to say it, but I believe you know what I *mean*." 

"Well... a lot *more* free, yes —" 

"Even before he knew he would be *accepted* by his fellow soldiers? By Athos? By *you*?" 

"He... had a certain peace." 

"*What*?" 

"He'd *made* a certain peace — with his God. That's a lot more accurate." 

Aramis is staring again. 

"I know; I felt the same way when he tried to explain it to me the first *several* times. But uh. His God — his *Christ* — had room for all of this. The whoring, the buggery, even *most* of his recreational killing." 

"What kind of Christ *is* this?" 

"I wish he was around to *explain* it, because I sure as fuck can't," Porthos says, laughing painfully and dragging a hand down over his face. "I wish he was around for... all the reasons in the world." 

Aramis's heart pounds. "I... you should never be without. Love." 

Porthos's breath hitches. "Funny, that." 

"What?"

"I feel the same way about you." 

"I do not." Aramis shakes his head and steps back. "Do not say this." 

"You care about me." 

"This is *obvious* —" 

"Am I *not* obvious? I don't want you just to *have* you —" 

"Porthos —" 

"I don't want you for a *dalliance* —" 

"We are not even from the same *spheres*!" 

"Let me *give* you this sphere, Aramis. Let me — let *us* — give it to you. No. *Take* it from us. Take it from us and stay —" 

Aramis kisses Porthos *hard* — 

"Mm —" Porthos steps *back* — "Aramis, let me speak —" 

"Don't make me need to *run* from you!" 

Porthos blinks rapidly and *stares* — 

Aramis thinks he must be *snarling* — 

And then Porthos cups his face with both hands and kisses him deeply, hungrily, *wetly* — 

Aramis shivers and makes it harder, please *harder* — 

Porthos bites his *lip* — 

Aramis moans and nods — 

And Porthos bites him again — 

Again and again — 

Bites his *throat* — 

"Oh, *yes* —" 

Porthos *growls*, and it is low and flat and *animal* — 

"You sound like your *father* —" 

Porthos *jerks* back —"Uh. Sorry?" 

"Why did you *stop*?" 

They stare at each other for long moments. 

"Porthos —" 

"You're absolutely right; I have no bloody idea," Porthos says, shoving one hand into Aramis's hair and yanking his head back and to the side — 

Baring his *throat* — 

Aramis pants and struggles to ignore the urge to *fight* — 

"Aramis? Is this all right?" 

"It *is*. I am only — only —" 

"You're reading me as a threat. Do you need me to —" 

"*No*. Please bite me, please *touch* me —" 

Porthos growls again and does just that, biting the join of throat to shoulder — 

Aramis gasps — 

And Porthos bites *harder* and cups Aramis through his *trousers* with his free hand. He — 

"Porthos, *yes* — *yes* —-" 

Porthos bites his throat again — 

Pulls back and bites him *higher* on his throat — 

Tilts Aramis's head and bites him over his *Adam's* apple — 

Sucks *hard* — 

"*Unh* — *Porthos* —" 

He pulls *back* — 

"Porthos, stop *pausing* —" 

"It's just. I want." 

"*Do* what you want!" 

Porthos growls again and drops to his *knees* in front of Aramis — 

Aramis *grunts* — 

And Porthos is... sniffing him. 

Gripping Aramis by the hips — 

Holding Aramis *still* — 

And sniffing his *groin* like a *dog*. 

He...

Aramis licks his lips. 

Considers the situation he has found himself in. 

Considers...

Should he have seduced an earth-mage before now? Would it have prepared him for this moment? 

Porthos is growling and *nuzzling* at Aramis's *trousers*, and — 

And... 

"Porthos." 

"I — I — you just smell so bloody *good*..." 

"I gathered this." 

"I *really* want to — fuck, you smell *perfect* — apologize —" 

"Do you wish to *stop* what you are doing?" 

"No!" 

"Then I do not think you truly wish to apologize." 

"*Aramis* — oh, fuck, you're leaking more..." 

"You can tell this thing? Even with me dressed?" 

"Yeah..." And Porthos's tongue is peeking, just a little. 

Hm. "Do you enjoy the *tease* of me being dressed?" 

"I *hate* being teased usually —" 

"'Usually'?" 

Porthos laughs breathlessly and looks *up*. "All the bloody time. I was trying to be polite." 

"And not tear my clothes from my body? Is this the sort of dog you are...?" 

Porthos growls — and blinks, obviously shocked by that response. "Uh..." 

Aramis *grins*. "I think this is so..." 

"I think I need a bloody *lead*." 

"For which of us? Mm?" 

"Oh — shit, get these *off*," Porthos says, and his fingers — thick, rough — are deft on the laces of Aramis's trousers and breeches — 

Aramis swivels his hips to help Porthos get him out of them — 

Steps free — 

Gets *licked* with a *dog's* tongue — "*Porthos*!" 

And Porthos looks up at him with *gleaming* green eyes and licks his cock again — 

And again — 

And — 

Aramis shudders and grunts and *jerks* for it, spattering Porthos's face with *slick* — "I — I —" 

Porthos licks him *slowly* — 

Grips Aramis's hip and pushes his cock up to his belly and licks his *balls* — 

"*Fuck* — Porthos — Porthos, that feels — your *tongue* —" 

And Porthos raises his eyebrows and *curls* his tongue against his balls — 

"*Nnh* — I cannot — you must do that to my *cock*!" 

Porthos's eyes are full of a *hot* smile, a *wild* smile, and he *drags* his tongue from Aramis's balls — 

Aramis shivers and *whines* — 

Porthos *bucks* — 

Aramis *moans* — 

And then Porthos is holding Aramis's cock by the base and doing his best — and his best is very good — to *wrap* his long, thin tongue around — 

*Around* — 

Aramis can't keep himself from trying to *fuck* it — 

Porthos nods and nods and all of it, *all* of it, drags the rough flat of his tongue against the head of Aramis's cock — 

He is sensitized, *sensitized* — 

Porthos's breath is so *hot* — 

Aramis cannot possibly have *earned* this — 

Porthos is whuffing, dragging his slick tongue, rough tongue — 

Aramis needs to — 

There are rules to his behaviour, his sexual behaviour, there are rules he must *follow* — 

Everything falls *apart* unless he — 

He can't — 

He can't be *reckless*, not in — not in *this* way — 

He needs to — to — 

Aramis whimpers and *yanks* himself free —

Porthos looks up in *worried* shock —

Aramis shakes his head and drops to *his* knees, cupping Porthos's face, stroking his soft beard, no, no — 

Aramis licks his slowly shrinking tongue, laps away the taste of himself — 

"Fugh — *fuck* — *Aramis* —" 

"Please, *please*." 

"What do you need? You can *have* it —" 

"Please. I. I must serve." It is the only way this *works* — 

Porthos *barks* — 

They *both* blush — 

Porthos licks his lips — "Aramis?"

"Please," Aramis says, and leans in to lick Porthos's soft mouth once, twice — 

"Wait — wait —" 

"*Please*." 

Porthos blows out a breath — "*How* do you want to serve?"

Oh — "I would like for you to choose." 

"Oh. Fuck." 

"Have you... not done this?" 

Porthos reaches to cup Aramis's arms — 

Aramis moves back and strips off his shirt, exposing the blades. 

"Oh — shit, that's hot," Porthos says, laughing and cupping the back of Aramis's neck, instead — 

"It is *practical* —" 

"Like I said." Porthos licks his lips. "And yeah, I've done it." 

"And you've dreamed it for your Aramis —" 

"No." 

Aramis blinks. "But — you have said —" 

"I did, I did," Porthos says, in a *soothing* voice. "And I *did* dream it for him. But — this is different. You're..." Porthos smiles and raises his eyebrows. "*I'm* not the same man I was a week ago."

Aramis takes a breath. "Your dreams will not guide you. This is what you are saying." 

"Yeah. That. So... I need your help. I need you to serve me first *that* way." 

"Oh. Which way?" 

"Tell me what you like. Tell me what —" Porthos growls and looks him over. "Tell me what makes things quiet and small and *right* inside you." 

"*You* must choose, please —" 

"I will. I will," Porthos says, and *squeezes* the back of Aramis's neck. "Don't you worry about that." 

"But —" 

"I'm going to tell you what makes me feel... nice and big. Nice and *right*." 

"*Please*!" 

"But I *think* I know you well enough to know that you'll want to go with my choices before you even tell me your own. That you'll want to *hide* from me." And Porthos raises his eyebrows again. 

Aramis flushes. "This — this is one of your rules." 

"It is. No hiding. No lies." 

Aramis opens his mouth — but only to take a deeper breath. To taste the air. This... this can work. This can *work*.

Porthos's eyes heat — and gleam again for just a moment. "You're so beautiful..." 

"Thank you... but you do not like being called 'sir'." 

"No, I don't. I like my name — generally. But... we can try other things, too. Especially if those other things get you hot enough to smell even better...?" 

And that... his *scents* can serve Porthos. 

His *desire* can serve Porthos. 

It feels strange, but Aramis's skin is still *sparking* with the memory of a dog's tongue. All of this is strange. 

All of this is *new*. 

And all of it feels... very, very good. Aramis nods. "I understand... Master," he says, and that — 

He feels his skin prickle with sweat and new *flush* —

He does not — 

He *does* move this quickly with the people he seduces, but it does not usually feel this — 

"You like that...? Are you sure?" And Porthos is breathing so roughly — 

*He* likes it — 

He wishes to be careful, but he *likes* it —

"Yes, Master. Yes, I... please." 

Porthos flares his nostrils and growls a little. "I'm glad you do... pet? Or are you my boy? Something... else?" 

Oh... more. More *choices* — but. He must be *honest*. He must follow *this* Master's rules, if only for now. "It has amused the men and women I have served to let their boys keep their weapons on them," Aramis says, and keeps his gaze locked with Porthos's own, even though he is blushing as well as flushing. 

Porthos growls and tightens his grip on Aramis's neck. "You've needed that." 

"Yes, but we can." But. The words stick in his throat. "I apologize." Aramis tries to hang his head, but Porthos will not *let* him — 

"No. I like having boys and girls. *Especially* dangerous boys and girls," he says, and smiles. 

Aramis inhales — "It... amuses you?" 

"It makes me hot. It makes me hungry. It makes me want to do everything I can to make that boy or girl *mine*." 

Aramis grunts — "You... have had many boys? And girls?" 

"No. I haven't had *any* dangerous boys — not for more than a night. But... there was Flea." 

"She was your *woman* —" 

"She was my little girl," Porthos says, and raises his eyebrows, and pets Aramis's mouth with the fingers of his free hand. "Even though she was about a year and a half older than I was." 

"I." 

"She was my *dangerous* little girl, because she was — *is* — a *Court* lass. And I think you know exactly what that means." 

"Yes!" 

"She was my dangerous little *sister*, because she was *mine*. Mine to hold. Mine to love. Mine to keep warm on the cold nights. Mine to discipline when we both needed it. Mine to *love*." 

"And... you never had this with a boy?" Aramis knows that is not the question he wants to ask, but — 

But he does not know what that other question is. 

He doesn't — 

"Aramis..." 

"I apologize, Master! I know that was not right —" 

"Shh. I smelled a little lie in that question. But... you don't know what question you want to ask?" 

Aramis exhales in *relief*. "No, Master, I do *not*. I will think *harder* —" 

"Shh, wait. You *definitely* know there *is* a question. A question you *need* to ask?" 

Aramis moans — 

Porthos is making this feel so — 

He is making Aramis feel so — "I — I — yes, please, Master. I apologize, I will serve you faster, better — I will serve you all *night* —" 

"Yeah. Yeah, you will." 

Aramis grunts — 

And Porthos hauls them to their feet. "Your bedroom or mine, mm? Are you comfortable enough in yours to be my good boy?" 

Aramis's cock *jerks* — "Please, yes, please, *yes* —" 

"Good, because your bedroom is a lot less likely to get walked *into* while we're still *busy*," Porthos says, and grins. 

Aramis knows he must look *horrified* — 

"Family, eh? But we don't have to think about that just yet." 

"No... no, Master."

"That's right. You just have to think about getting dressed *enough* to walk through these halls." 

"I will do it —" 

"Shh. You'll do it when I tell you to." 

"I — oh, Master..." 

"Yeah. You're mine now. You're going to follow *my* rules and do what *I* say *when* I say." 

"Yes — *yes* —" 

"And you'll be my good, sweet, dirty boy..." Porthos growls — and flares his nostrils. "You just had an unpleasant thought. Tell me." 

Aramis blinks. "I... I wondered. It seemed that this *was* a fantasy you had had about your Aramis." 

"No. Not this. I won't ever lie to you." 

Aramis *pants* — "Master —" 

"Wait. I *have* dreamed of him being my boy, but it wasn't *like* this. It was... sweeter. Gentler. I had those fantasies when I was dreaming of... taking care of him. I wasn't his *Master* in those fantasies." 

And that... is confusing. "Then... what?"

Porthos smiles wryly and strokes the side of Aramis's throat with his thumb. "I hadn't put a name to it. I hadn't *dared* to. But now... now I can definitely say that I was his Daddy... or something like it." 

Aramis is staring — 

Blushing and — 

And staring and wondering and — 

"Aramis? Are you all right?" 

"I... I have never... imagined." Aramis licks his lips. "These dreams gave you pleasure." 

"Yes, but —" 

"You thought they would give your *Aramis* pleasure." 

Porthos frowns. 

"Please tell me, Master!" 

Porthos inhales sharply. "*Yes*, Aramis. Yes, I did. But remember — he also took pleasure from having melons shot off his head —" 

"He took pleasure from putting his *life* in your strong, capable *hands*." 

*Porthos* grunts — 

"He took pleasure — such pleasure! — from showing you the *perfection* of his trust in you. He would have done *anything* for you and a part of you *knew* this thing!" 

And now Porthos is staring — 

His eyes are full of such pain — 

Such — 

Such an *ache*, and Aramis wonders if he has lost his chance — *ruined* his chance — 

But Porthos doesn't move his hand from the back of his neck. 

He doesn't look *away* from Aramis. 

He — "Aramis..." 

"I — M-master... should I apologize?" 

Porthos growls and *licks* Aramis's *mouth* — 

"*Nnh* —" 

"Thank you for that." 

"I —"

"Thank you for putting my memories where they needed to *go*," he says, and again he doesn't sound angry, or resentful, or — 

"My Master is... grateful?" 

"Your —" And Porthos growls again, low and *animal* as he tightens his hand on Aramis's neck almost *painfully*. "I am. I'm grateful to you for more things than I can *count*. But... are you my Aramis?" 

And *then* Aramis thinks about what he had said — 

And pants — 

He is *sensitized* — 

He is — 

He is... but. He knows what to do with his hands. He crosses them behind his back. "I am what you say, my Master." 

Porthos flushes and *snarls* — 

Aramis's cock is dripping on the *rugs* — 

"I think you should know, Aramis... I don't let my property go so easily..." 

Aramis flushes *hot*. "This. This is as it should be." 

"Is it, now." 

"Boys... cannot be allowed to run *free* — *AHN* —" 

And Porthos is biting him behind the ear — 

Biting him so hard, so hot, so — 

So — 

He is sucking and *lapping* as he bites — 

Growling and biting *harder* — 

"Yes, my Master, *yes*!" 

He *sucks* harder — 

"Please mark me!" 

Porthos *slurps* his way off — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"I *did* mark you, precious..." And Porthos licks his broad, wet lips. "Several times." 

"I — I..." 

"I'm going to keep doing it, too." 

"Please —" 

"Because you're *mine*." 

"Yes, *please*, Master —" 

"And you're *absolutely* right — a Master's boy has no business running around free. You need *discipline*." 

"*Fuck* —" 

"You like that, don't you." 

"Yes — yes — I like to serve! Please let me —" 

"I'm going to let you go in *just* a moment — but it's only going to be for long enough for you to get your clothes back on. *Enough* back on. Don't get fancy. Understood?" 

"*Yes*, Master!" 

Porthos *pants* — "Are you ready...?" 

"Yes. Yes, please. Please take me to serve you —"

"Here you are, precious..." And Porthos releases him — 

And Aramis *immediately* dresses himself at *speed*. 

"There's a good boy. But we already knew that *you* knew how to move your pretty little arse..." 

"*Unh* —" 

"Don't *stop*." 

"No, Master, I will *not*," Aramis says, lacing his breeches and trousers only tightly enough that they will not fall and then *throwing* his shirt on over them — 

And then Porthos's big, warm, *rough* hand is back on his neck. "Lead us to your rooms, precious. Make it quick, now." 

"Yes, Master," Aramis says and *obeys*, and he is smiling, he is *smiling* — 

"My pretty little precious... mm. You're going to be so good for me tonight..." 

"*Yes* —" 

"And *I'm* going to be good for both of us," Porthos says, growling under his breath and *adjusting* himself in his trousers and — 

"Oh, my Master, you already *are* — " 

"Aramis..." Porthos's growl this time is heavier. "You're making me so *hot*." 

"*Good*!" And he is smiling so *wide* — 

It is good to be a boy — 

It has never been *better* — 

His knives sit so easily — 

This man wants exactly who he *is* — 

This man *knows* who Aramis is and still wants — 

Still desires and *aches* — 

This man knows what he *wants* and does not hide from it, does not *flinch* from it, does not *shrink* from it —

This man — *Porthos* — wants him. *Him*. And that is — 

Is — 

"Oh, precious..." 

Aramis snaps *out* of it and *thinks* — "I am precious, my Master?" 

"Yeah. You are. Bright and beautiful and strong and smart and warm and hungry and wise — mm. So many other things. So many other good *things*. I *need* you." 

There *are* parts of Aramis which want to deny that. There are parts of him which want to *fight* that. But... 

Those parts are older, and colder, and do not belong to any Master, at all, much less a *good* one. 

A warm one. 

Aramis does not have to fight anything, at all.


	17. I mean, I'd totally have suites for all my loves if I could afford it, too. Don't be so judgy, Porthos.

Porthos follows Aramis into his suite of rooms, and... 

He doesn't know what he'd expected from Treville for the rooms he'd give an Aramis. *Something* a little more than perfectly-appointed rooms which say nothing *about* Aramis, but... 

But. 

For all Porthos knows, there's another suite of rooms somewhere in this big house that are as perfect for the Aramis they'd lost as Porthos's rooms had been for him.

All the light — 

All of his Mum's *things* —

All of those *books* — Porthos *stops* prowling around with Aramis in tow and *thinks*. Is there a bedroom in this big house with a beautiful bible on the bedside table?

There certainly hadn't been any bibles in any of the show-off-y places nobility *usually* keep them, and — 

And *this* is an Aramis Treville hadn't known. 

This is an Aramis — Treville wouldn't have wanted to make it seem like he was shoving this Aramis into a *box*. 

And that. Porthos shivers —

"Master? Are you well?" There's just a little trouble in Aramis's voice, and that — 

Porthos can't have that. "Just started thinking of what my father might do to decorate for you — and the other Aramis. My thoughts turned dark." 

"Oh, Master, I — but. He *decorated* for you?" 

This is the Aramis in Porthos's hands. 

This is the Aramis who wants to be *his*, even if it's only for tonight — no. No, Porthos isn't going to think about that. He isn't — 

It *might* only be for tonight, but he'll just get in his own way and start *begging* if he lets himself think about that, so — 

So he'll let himself dream about other things. 

There's no harm in that. 

Not with Aramis looking into Porthos's eyes with *his* eyes so wide and hungry and hopeful. 

"Master...?" 

"You've got me hungry, precious..." 

"Please tell me how!" 

Because you want to do it again? Porthos licks his lips. "You looked like you wanted more, precious. More from *me*." 

"Oh —" 

"You looked like you *hoped* for more," Porthos says, and opens Aramis's trousers one-handed — 

"I — I do!" 

Porthos growls — 

Growls more and opens Aramis's breeches without getting his trousers very far out of the way — 

"Master — Master, please..." 

"Mm? What does my precious need?" And Porthos reaches into the gap and cups Aramis's hard, pretty cock. 

"Yes — please — I — did your father *decorate*." 

"Athos's and my suites of rooms were perfect for us. *Perfect*. Maybe a little too perfect, and I'll explain that in just a moment," Porthos says, giving Aramis's cock a *hard* squeeze — 

"*Ahn* — *oh* —" 

"I'm going to release your neck in just a moment, precious — and you're going to strip *all* the way down. The only things you'll leave on are your gorgeous knives. Understand?" 

Aramis stares at him — 

Smiles so brightly — 

So — 

So young and bright and happy, and *shocked* to be so happy —

And it all lets Porthos know that he's doing this just right, and it all makes Porthos want to — no. He has to say this. "Precious, I want to *break* every person who took this from you the *wrong* way." 

"Master?" 

"I think you know what I mean — and you *don't* need to think about it. I'm going to do right by you, little precious. And hope *you* did for the people who *didn't* treat you right."

Aramis giggles. "This is my usual way of doing things, my Master," he says, and gives Porthos a *flirty* look — 

Porthos growls and darts in — 

Bites that mouth — 

That chin and jawline — 

"Oh, Master, *Master* —" 

"You're so perfect, precious. Mm. *Mm*. Right, all right. I'm going to let you go. Are you ready to lose your clothes?" 

"Yes, Master!" 

"Good boy," Porthos says, and releases him, stepping back barely far enough to give him *room* — 

And Aramis strips as fast as he'd dressed — brutally efficient but also *eager*. 

Eager to *give* himself. 

This... 

No. No. 

Porthos isn't going to even *try* to stay dressed. There's no reason to ruin his clothes. 

Once Aramis is finished and is standing, naked and *armed* and perfect, waiting for *orders* — 

Porthos grins. "Now me, precious. Get me ready for you." 

"Oh... Master, yes?" 

"You like that?" 

"I did not think I would be allowed to touch so *soon*," Aramis says, coming close and grinning again — 

Stroking *lightly* over Porthos's chest — 

It makes Porthos glad he's still wearing his leathers and it makes him wish *sincerely* to be naked right bloody now. But — he has questions to answer. 

And Aramis has to *familiarize* himself with Porthos's leathers. So. 

"So we were talking about how those rooms were too perfect." 

"Yes, my Master," Aramis says, humming and obviously looking for hidden catches before moving to actually *open* the tunic. 

Porthos breathes — "Treville *obviously* put thought into it. What we liked. How we liked to *live*. How we *wanted* to live. What we wanted to have *surrounding* us —" 

"He had you *watched*?" 

"All he had to do was listen to the conversations we had when he was walking by what we *thought* was out of earshot, precious." 

"I... yes, I see, my Master! Please continue!" And Aramis's deft fingers work quickly — 

The tunic is open — 

He pushes it off gently, respectfully — "Where would you like me to place it?" 

On your shoulders — no. Porthos licks his lips and nods to the bare, neat desk at the far side of the sitting room. "That chair over there will do fine for now, precious." 

"Yes, my Master." 

"And we walked into those rooms and realized — he didn't just *want* us here, he'd *had* us here. In his mind. In his *dreams*." 

"Oh. He wishes you to *live* here, with him? Is this safe?" And Aramis is untucking Porthos's shirt. 

"Not even a little, really — unless he somehow manages to adopt us without all hell breaking loose. Which is *unlikely*." 

Aramis nods. "He is known to be a buggerer, I think, my Master?" And he lifts Porthos's shirt — 

They get him out of it — 

Aramis stares *hungrily* at Porthos's chest... 

And Porthos can't think about Treville anymore. "Go on, precious. Touch me." 

Aramis moans. "I — I have not finished —" 

"I know. But your Master needs to feel you. Needs to feel your *hands*." 

Aramis makes a *starved* sound, *rushes* to bring the shirt to the desk — and when he comes back, his hands are *greedy* on Porthos's chest, petting and stroking — 

Cupping and *squeezing* — 

Dragging his calluses over Porthos's nipples —

Porthos pants. "Good boy..." 

"Yes? Yes, my Master? I should do this more?" 

"Everything. I want *everything*." 

Another starved sound — and Aramis leans in to *kiss* Porthos's chest, right between his pecs — 

"Oh, that's so *sweet*, precious... do it again." 

And Aramis kisses him again — 

Again and again — 

Kisses and *sucks* the nipple he'd chafed —

Porthos's cock jerks and he's cupping the back of Aramis's head just that fast — 

"*Mm* — yes, yes," Aramis slurs, and kisses and licks his way across Porthos's chest — 

The kisses are so small — 

The licks are little — 

Little *kitten*-licks — 

He makes Porthos feel ten miles *wide* — 

And when he makes it to the other nipple, he licks and *suckles*, and Porthos feels like he's leaking enough slick to lubricate the *entire* regiment — 

He's hard and *aching* — 

He's never — 

"It's never been *like* this," Porthos growls, and tugs Aramis *back* — 

"*Please*!" 

"You're *perfect*, precious," Porthos says, and licks his wet mouth, his hot mouth, his soft *mouth* — "You're driving me *mad* —" 

"Please — *please*. Please let me *ease* you!" 

Porthos pants out another growl — "You need that more than your discipline, precious...?" 

"I need what *you* need, my Master!" 

And that — he knew that. 

He knew that, and he — 

Porthos growls. "Get down on your *knees*," he says, and releases Aramis with *effort* — 

Aramis *beams* at him and drops — "I will open your straining trousers?" 

"Yeah. Do that. Do that *right* —" 

But Aramis is already working, already opening him — 

Focused on his *task* — 

He — 

"Do you like sucking cock, Aramis...?" 

Aramis parts his lips. "I like to *serve*, my Master. It is... it has often been just another sex act when I have *not* been serving," he says, and there was a little too much age in that answer. 

Dangerous ground, maybe? 

*Distracting* ground? Either way, it won't do. 

Porthos grips Aramis by the hair and *yanks* his head back — 

"Ah —" 

"*Don't stop opening me. I know you can do it." 

"Yes, Master, I —" 

"You're *always* going to serve me, precious." 

Aramis grunts, fingers *spasming* on Porthos's breeches — 

"You like that...?" 

"Please — please, yes, Master!" 

"You want to stay on your knees...?" 

Aramis groans — "Please, I — it is good, it is so good, please let me *serve*," he says, and folds the breeches and trousers back, tugs them down while *easing* Porthos's cock free — 

Porthos is panting again — 

Needing — 

Aramis's hand is *on* him — 

His other hand is tugging Porthos's trousers and breeches further out of the way, and — 

"Oh, precious... oh, precious, kiss my cock all *over*." 

"Mm! Yes! Yes, my Master!" 

"And take *deep* breaths while you do it... because you're about to lose your chance to do that." 

Aramis's cock jerks — and he *yanks* the hand he doesn't have on Porthos's cock behind his back before bending Porthos's cock to his lips and kissing the slit — 

Porthos growls and pushes — 

Pushes — 

"Again. *Again*." 

"Mm — mm-hmm!" And Aramis kisses him over and over again — 

Licks and kisses all over the head — 

Pushes Porthos's cock up and kisses down the underside — 

Wet kisses, sweet kisses, so — 

Porthos groans and — no. "Squeeze me. Squeeze me *tight*." 

"*Mm*!" And Aramis obeys — 

Porthos *snarls* — 

Drips on Aramis's *face* — 

Aramis *pants* — 

"Keep *kissing*." 

"Yes — I — my Master is *delicious*," he says, and pushes Porthos's cock down to make *love* to the head again, and the sides — 

The top — 

He squeezes *testingly* — 

Porthos growls and — can't. "Open *up*." 

"Ah —" And Aramis waits for him with his mouth wide and his eyes thrilled and — 

And Porthos pushes in, just pushes right *in* — 

Aramis moans and moans and *shakes* on his knees, gets his other hand behind his back, makes himself so ready, so *open* — 

"You're so *incredible*," Porthos says, and pushes all the way to the back of Aramis's throat — 

Aramis is already trying to swallow — 

Trying to *take* — 

"Fuck — *precious* —" Porthos grips him by the hair with both hands and *fucks* his way in — 

Aramis *gulps* — 

Flushes and — 

His eyes are *smiling* — 

"Oh — oh, precious, your throat is so hot and *tight*, so —" Porthos growls. "You're perfect, you feel so perfect, you're making me feel so *good* —" 

Aramis flushes deeper — 

Swallows and swallows and — 

Porthos grunts and *bucks* — 

Aramis takes it *perfectly*, but — 

"Not that — not — don't swallow too much, yet." 

Aramis focuses. 

"Oh, precious..." Porthos pants and grins. "I want to *last* more than a *minute*." 

Aramis narrows his eyes in an *adorably* wicked smile — and nods as much as Porthos is letting him. 

"Yeah? You're going to be my good boy...?" 

Aramis nods *fervently* — 

"Then *take* it," Porthos says, and thrusts in — 

*In* — 

Pulls out and pauses — "Take a breath. Right now." 

Aramis obeys — 

Slurps and *sucks* — 

*Waits* — 

And Porthos grins and shoves *in* — 

"Mmgh —" 

— and stays right there. 

Right... there. 

He's panting and sweating and *aching*, and he's — "You're all full..." 

Aramis flushes *deeply* and nods — 

"You know. You know that's exactly how you should be, right...?" And Porthos licks his lips — 

His tongue wants to grow. He won't *let* it — 

"You know that a boy *belongs* on his knees stuffed with cock..." 

Aramis groans in his chest — 

Flushes *more* deeply — 

His cock is jerking over and *over* again, spattering his own belly and his thighs and the rugs and Porthos's *legs*. 

"Answer me, precious..." 

Aramis nods and nods and tries to *grind* his face against Porthos's crotch — 

Porthos *grunts* — 

*Bucks* — 

That feels even better than it *usually* does — 

That — 

The *base* of his cock is sensitive, needy, wants *touch* — 

Porthos growls and *holds* Aramis pressed to his mound — 

Aramis shivers and bucks and bucks and sucks — 

*Works* Porthos's cock with his *lips* — 

"Ah — *AHN* — *fuck*, precious, do *that* —" 

Aramis groans and obeys him, gives him — 

"You're giving me — giving me just what I *need* —" 

Aramis's mouth falls open around him, but he has no air, he's too choked to make a *sound* — 

"Mouth *shut*." 

Aramis nods and nods and obeys, grinding and mouthing, *slurping* and mouthing, and Porthos keeps expecting to get a little *used* to the feeling, but — 

He just gets more and more sensitive — 

More and more — needy — 

Fuck — 

*Fuck* — he can't — 

He's growling and *bucking* — 

He's *yanking* Aramis's hair — no — no — 

He *hauls* Aramis off — 

Aramis gasps — "No! Please!" 

"*Breathe*!" 

Aramis gasps again — 

Again — 

And then breathes properly all while looking deep into Porthos's *eyes*. 

*Pleadingly*. 

"I *need* you," Porthos growls — 

"Please *do* what —" 

But he can't let Aramis finish that thought, can't do anything but *shove* back into that mouth, that throat — 

All the way *in* — 

Get those lips back on the base of his cock — 

Aramis's eyes are so *thrilled* — 

So *hungry* — 

So — 

The base of Porthos's cock feels like — like it's getting *harder*, or swelling even *more* or...

Something. *Shit* — 

Porthos looks down just like he'd be able to *see* anything past Aramis's *head* — 

Treville had *said* his cock would start changing, but he thought he'd have some *time* — 

He's suddenly not at all sure why he thought he'd have time. 

He — 

He can't — fuck. He pulls back — 

Aramis blinks and *frowns* — "My Master? Have I displeased?" 

*Fuck* — he can't bloody do *this*, is what he can't do. He will *not* make this a problem for *Aramis*. 

Porthos takes a breath — 

And smiles wryly. "I just realized why I *suddenly* really liked having the base of my cock mouthed and played with." 

Aramis blinks rapidly. "I... do not..." 

"I'm turning into a shifter, precious. I'm growing a —" 

"You are growing your *mark* — oh. Oh." Aramis stares at Porthos's cock in fascination. "I believe I can see..." He licks his lips. "It is not any more red or *pointy* than it was before, but the base..." 

"Fuck. *Fuck*." 

"This bothers my Master?" And Aramis sounds honestly *curious*, honestly — 

He wants to *know* Porthos. Porthos is going to make that happen at speed. "I'm not *always* so good at accepting change, little precious." 

Another blink. "This is so?" 

"Oh, yeah," Porthos says, and pushes his hands *through* Aramis's soft, thick hair — 

Again — 

Again — 

"Oh, my Master, *please* —" 

"Sometimes I just need to *touch* you, precious..."

"I think you need to touch me with your *cock*, my Master!"

Porthos laughs *hard* — 

And Aramis grins up at him, grins so — 

"Fuck — fuck, just..." 

"Yes? Yes?" 

"I don't do well when I lose people I love, precious," Porthos says, and he looks right into Aramis's eyes. 

"No — no, of course not —" 

"I don't *do* well when I lose people I *love*." 

Aramis gasps — 

Stares up at him wonderingly *and* a little fearfully — 

But only a little. 

Porthos licks his lips. "You just put that in the back of your mind to think about another time, precious. You've got a job to do now." 

"I — I will serve you now? You will let me?" 

"You're going to make me spend right down your — mm. No. I'm going to spend in your *mouth* —" 

Aramis makes a guttural noise — 

"You need to *know* me, precious — including *exactly* how I taste." 

Aramis's eyes go *wide* — "Oh, please — please —" 

"*Open*." 

Aramis *obeys* — 

"So *beautiful* —" Porthos pushes in, all the way — 

Aramis *gulps* him down — 

"Oh, you perfect — *nnh* — you know what to *do*." 

And this time Aramis starts to *massage* Porthos's growing knot with his lips, he — 

"*Shit*, that's — oh, precious, that's so good, that's so *sweet* —" 

Aramis swallows and groans and keeps it *up* — 

Porthos's cock's jerks and jerks and — 

It feels like he's leaking a fountain's worth of slick — 

Right down Aramis's — 

Oh, fuck — "*Fuck*, Aramis, I want to mark you, mark you with my *slick* —" 

Aramis groans and nods and stares up at him *hungrily* — and never stops massaging Porthos with his lips — 

"I want to spend on your *cock* —" 

Aramis *bucks* — 

"I want to spend on your tight little *hole* —" 

Aramis *presses* his lips *tight* — 

His eyes are wild and *desperate* — 

He bucks and bucks and *groans* — 

He's *pleading* up at Porthos — 

"You want that, precious? You want to be... marked all over?" 

Aramis nods *desperately* — 

Works his pretty *mouth* — 

Swallows and swallows — 

"Shit, you — I'll make you *mine*, precious —" 

Aramis's eyes roll up — 

"I — I — no one will be able to walk past you on the *street* without knowing who you *belong* to —" 

Aramis slurps and nods and swallows — 

Clutches his *hands* behind his back — 

His arm-muscles are *flexing* under those blades — 

He's flushing so — 

So *dark*, and some of that is the lack of air, but he's — 

He wants this. 

Porthos *knows* Aramis hasn't had this, not like this, not this good, not this right — 

Porthos growls and hauls him closer, crushes him *in* — 

Aramis groans and bounces on his *knees* — 

"My perfect *boy* — you make me so —" *Porthos* groans — 

*Whines* — 

Fucks in — 

In-in-in, and the thrusts are short, desperate, *rutting* — 

He can't bear to take his growing knot *away* from Aramis — 

Away from Aramis's perfect *mouth* — 

"You make me feel so — so *right*," Porthos says, and he's sweating like a *pig*, aching, *aching*, and he — 

He bloody — 

Aramis looks so *hungry* for it — 

So *happy* — 

"Oh, fuck, I can't stop, you've got me too hot, precious, you've got me —" And a croon comes out rather than anything else — 

A croon and the beginnings of a — 

Aramis bares his teeth and scrapes just a *little* — 

And Porthos howls *exactly* like the dog he's turning into and *reams* Aramis's mouth, fucking him hard, *hard* — 

He can't think — 

He can't bloody — 

Aramis looks *ecstatic* — 

So wild and happy and *pleased* — 

Porthos *grips* his hair and howls again, shoves in, shoves *in* — 

Aramis *presses* with his lips — 

Porthos howls *again* — and his vision *blanks* as he spurts, desperate and hot and — 

It feels like so much — 

It feels like — 

He can't stop *fucking* Aramis — 

He can't stop — 

It feels so good, so much — 

He has to *fill* him — 

He has to give Aramis every *drop* — but then Aramis meets his gaze with a *plea* in his eyes, and Porthos *remembers*. 

His mouth. 

His *mouth*. He pulls back, just *enough*, and — 

Oh, fuck, Aramis sucks *hard*, sucks him like everything that had come before was just *play*, sucks him like he *needs* it, and Porthos spills for him — 

Spills and spills and — 

There's so bloody *much* — 

Aramis moans and swallows and swallows, lashes fluttering on his flushed and hollowed cheeks. 

He is. 

He is — 

Porthos is *staggering* when he finally stops spending, sensitized and still hard as *steel* — 

And his knot is bigger. 

*Noticeably* bigger. 

He licks his lips and *strokes* Aramis's hair. "That's good. That was perfect, precious. That..." Porthos laughs breathlessly. "That took my mind *right* away, as you could *tell*." 

Aramis suckles *lightly* and smiles. 

"Yeah. Mm. You're a good, good boy," Porthos says, and shocks himself by *rumbling*. 

He can't actually *stop* rumbling for a little while — 

Aramis is staring up at him *curiously* by the time Porthos finally *can* stop — 

"I um. That was a happy noise, by the way." 

Aramis nods once and goes back to suckling. 

"That's excruciating and wonderful and it's *going* to get you fucked again imminently." 

Aramis smiles and keeps suckling. 

"Oh, *really*. What if I want something else, eh...?" 

Aramis pulls back immediately and licks his lips. "Whatever my Master wills," he says, and he's hoarse and calm and pleased and so — 

Porthos's cock *jerks* again — 

Aramis looks at it *hungrily* — 

"Tell me what you're thinking, precious..."

"That..." Aramis licks his lips again — 

Again — 

He looks *up*. "I wish to see — and taste — *all* of the changes your cock goes through, my Master." 

Porthos growls and *grips* his cock — careful to do it beyond where his growing knot is yelling at him a bit — "That can be arranged, precious..." 

"It." Aramis hangs his head. "I cannot think about that." 

"Not right now, I know. You don't have to." 

"No, my Master?" He keeps his head low. 

Aramis needs him to get this right. Needs him to — Porthos grips his hair tight again. 

"Oh —" 

"I already told you, precious. Thoughts like that are for another time. *After* we've had our time together. My time with my sweet, sweet little boy..." 

Aramis moans — 

Moans — 

And turns to kiss Porthos's other wrist. "My Master is good to me." 

"Your Master needs you. *Craves* you. *Aches* for you." 

Aramis pants — 

He still has his head hung *low* — 

"Then I must serve you better. Please tell me how." 

Porthos rumbles and rumbles and cups Aramis's chin — 

Tilts his beautiful face *up* — 

"The ache inside won't go anywhere, precious. But let's do something about the rest."


	18. Well, it's not like they have cable.

Treville tries to get a better view at the scrying-bowl without putting a crick in his neck — 

Jason swats him with a shadow. "Please do remember that you still have me *tied*, amant." 

"I — sorry. It's just —" 

"They're fucking, yes. I'm well aware." 

"We probably shouldn't be using the scrying-bowl in bed." 

"Amant. Where do you *think* I use this bowl when you're not *here*?"

Treville opens his mouth — 

Closes it —

"I. I really can't get the question of how big Porthos's knot might grow out of my head." 

"Neither can I, really." 

"No?"

Jason smiles with all of his teeth and at least two-thirds of the shadow-creature's. "It *could* wind up bigger than yours, amant..." 

"I... hm." 

"You're trying to decide whether to be worried, covetous, lustful, or jealous." 

"I..." 

"It's adorable." 

"*Look* — no, wait, what? *Adorable*?" 

Jason laughs hard. "I'm going to miss it if you ever lose touch with your..." He gestures vaguely. "Temporally-appropriate manliness." 

"The way you have?" 

"Precisely." 

"You don't think my deviance has a certain timeless quality?" 

"Oh, to be *sure*, amant —" 

"*Thank* you —" 

"— but the rest... waxes and wanes with the times. And the locations, of course." 

Treville nods thoughtfully. "You do have to wonder what sort of man will *be* a man's man six hundred years from now." 

"He'll probably be a pillock." 

Treville snorts. "And thank you for that." 

Jason grins. "You're welcome. About your son's knot." 

"Fuck." 

"Yes?" 

"I want..." 

"*Yes*...?" 

"I want... to spend a *lot* of time talking to Porthos about his *fantasies*, and *my* fantasies, and seeing how many of those fantasies we can make..." 

"Breed beautiful, sticky children?" 

Treville gives Jason a horrified look. 

Jason laughs *hard*. "*Speaking* of beautiful, sticky children..." 

"Right you are," Treville says, and *deals* with the crick in his neck so he can see what Porthos and Aramis are *doing* — wait. 

"Mm?" 

"What is *Athos* doing?" 

"Let me just — there," Jason says, wriggling an arm out from between their bodies and the bowl — 

Gesturing — 

And Athos is sitting up in his bed with one of Thomas's favourite plays, occasionally pausing to stroke a page or smile. 

Treville swallows. 

"Breakfast with all of you nominally *diurnal* people is going to be *desperately* amusing," Jason says. 

Treville stares at Athos a little longer. 

Just... 

"Thomas would perform that play for all of us."

"Would he?"

"Constantly, because he loved the language. And then, when he realized how much *Athos* — Olivier, then — loved it, too..." Treville smiles helplessly. "We could all quote it for a while."

Jason makes a soft sound. "You gave Athos a gift tonight, amant." 

"I. If I had known he'd been *torturing* himself —" 

"Shh. He'll never be able to hide from you again. Not like that." 

Treville nods slowly and licks his lips. And turns to kiss Jason. "He's having happy memories now. I'm not... I'm not going to fall into a pit of self-loathing and make you chase me around the house." 

"Well, good, because we're still *tied*." 

"*You're* the one who wanted another round —" 

Jason mutters bad-naturedly, smoke curling out of the corners of his mouth — 

"Back to the sticky children?" 

"Hm. Wagers on whether or not Aramis will goad Porthos into putting that burgeoning knot where it belongs?" 

"I..." 

"Yes...?" 

Treville reaches up to stroke his beard. "On the one hand, Porthos has already declared his love."

"*Very* true." 

"On the *other* hand... he's already declared his *love*." 

"And?" 

"He might wind up feeling protective." 

Jason *blinks*. "Oh, dear. Is he going to *need* to feel protective?" 

Treville shakes his head. "I can feel him perfectly — he's got at least another full day before he can shift." 

"Good. Now," Jason says, and steeples his fingers as best as he can while *under* Treville, "will you take my wager...? My money is on Aramis." 

Treville snorts. "You're going to *tell* Porthos he doesn't need to worry if he *starts* worrying, aren't you." 

"Of course —" 

"No bet." 

Jason grins and gestures at the bowl.


	19. There just aren't too many ways Porthos *isn't* hungry for you, Aramis.

Aramis does not have words for *this* feeling. 

He does not think he has ever had it. He does not — 

There is trust — both for another person, and in himself for doing the right thing at the right time. 

There is happiness — he cannot stop *smiling* as Porthos makes him lead them both into his bedroom!

There is warmth, security, pleasure, hunger, ache — 

There is *need*. 

He needs more of this, so much *more*, and — 

There is fear — what if it gets taken away? But the fear is not like every other fear Aramis has known — even the similar fears he has known in moments similar *to* this.

Never the *same*, but — 

But. 

The fear is different. 

All he need do is turn his head to see Porthos — like so!

Turn his head to see Porthos gazing at him, studying him with hunger, appreciation, *need*, and so much more!

So many more things that Porthos has said that he does not *have* to think about now, but — 

A part of him wishes to.

A part of him thinks the thoughts could feel *good*. 

And the fear is gone. 

And he is smiling again, and all but *dancing* back to the bed, and — oh, but what if this is not where Porthos wishes to take him? "My Master? Do you wish the bed or somewhere else?" 

Porthos *rumbles* again — like the great dark hound he *is*! "I *definitely* want you on the bed, precious. You did just right." 

Aramis *grins* — "Please tell me *how* you want me on the bed, my Master!" 

Porthos *examines* the bed thoughtfully — 

Examines *him* just as thoughtfully — 

Aramis giggles — 

And Porthos grins. "It's time for you to be a little more honest with me, precious." 

"Yes! Yes, I will!" 

"You're perfect," Porthos says, and cups Aramis's shoulders — 

Looks into his eyes — 

*Smiles* into his eyes — "You're perfect, and I need you to tell me if you still need *discipline*." 

Aramis flushes. "Anything you *will*, my Master —" 

"Shh. You have to tell me what you *need*, precious. Because *that's* what I will." 

Aramis gasps a little — but it isn't truly a surprise. 

Not with this man. 

Not with this man who *always* gives him what he needs, who will not take even the slightest bit of pleasure for himself without *knowing* it is something Aramis needs. 

Not with this man who looks to him, and *into* him, at all *times*. 

Not with —

Not with Porthos. "I... I usually *prefer* discipline, my Master." 

"'Usually'...?" 

Aramis blushes — 

Shrugs in Porthos's *grip* — 

"I... it has felt very good to have my cock punished for choosing the *wrong* Master or Mistress... before the end of the encounter and my own vengeance." 

Porthos opens his mouth — and closes it again. And nods thoughtfully. "All right. You want something different." 

"I still want to *hurt*, my Master!" 

Porthos rumbles. "Don't you worry, precious. I *know* we'll find a way to take care of you right and proper." 

Aramis shivers and smiles. "Yes, my Master." 

"What about your balls, hm? So tidy and low-hanging..." 

"My Master likes? They are his to play with as he pleases!" 

"But have they been *disciplined*." 

"Oh. Yes, my Master. Often the other men and women were... indiscriminate." 

"They hit you all over...?" 

"Yes, my Master." 

Porthos nods *decisively* and licks his lips. "Right, well, I think I have a solution to our conundrum." 

"Yes, my Master?" 

"You want pain, but you *don't* want discipline. You've done nothing to earn it. Right?" 

"I — if my Master wishes —" 

"Your Master *needs* to make this just as right for you as possible. Otherwise *I* won't feel right. Won't feel... big enough." 

"Oh, my Master, no —" 

"Shh, shh," Porthos says, and squeezes his shoulders. "All you have to do is answer all my questions, precious. We'll get where we need to be. *Everywhere* we need to be." 

"My Master is confident..." 

"Your Master *knows* that we can do this. Right and proper." 

And he does know this. Aramis can feel it. Aramis can almost *taste* it. He nods. "Yes, my Master. I... I chose you well. I do not know... when I was thinking of being disciplined earlier, I was thinking of my *recklessness*. In the past, I was *usually* being at least a little reckless when I was choosing a sexual partner, but this... this feels... correct." 

Porthos inhales with a hungry shudder. "It does to me, too, precious. But a boy..." He licks his lips. "A Master *can* discipline his boy for all sorts of things. All sorts of *misbehaviour*." He raises his eyebrows. 

"This is so! Do you wish —" 

"Shh, wait. Think for me. Have you misbehaved in other ways? Have you been a bad boy?"

"I. I was reckless when I *came* here, but — it led to meeting *you*, and the others —" 

"That it did. But you still broke your own rules. Didn't you." 

"I am allowed to take actions which further my knowledge, actions which will make me *safer*, and an offer of teaching from Jason Blood *does* that, but..." 

"You still left your whole sphere. All your boltholes. All your caches of money and weapons. All the people you *could* have used as allies if you *had* to," Porthos says, and his voice is stern, so — 

So *hard* — 

So *stern* — 

"Oh, Master — Master, yes! Please, I must be disciplined! I was reckless! I was — I was greedy and thoughtless and —" 

"Shh. You'll get your discipline, precious," Porthos says, and his eyes are so hot, so *hot*. "But we have to take into *account* that it worked *out* that you came here." 

"We... do? No, we do. I understand this!" 

"Yeah, precious?" 

"Yes! The ends justify the means, even when the means must be corrected!" 

Porthos's eyes heat even more — 

They gleam *green* — 

He *growls* — 

"Please, my Master, discipline me as you *will*." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I... mm. I think... that I need my little precious in my *lap*." 

"In... one of the chairs?" 

"No, precious. Right on the bed. I'll show you," Porthos says. "Are you ready to lose my hands again?" 

"Yes! Please show me!" 

"*Good* boy," Porthos says, squeezing Aramis's shoulders one more time before letting go and getting onto the bed, on top of the covers. He sits up against the headboard and spreads his long, strong legs — and beckons. "Come to me." 

"Yes, my Master! How should I position myself? Back to your front?" 

"*Just* so, precious... oh, mm. You feel incredible..." 

Aramis grins and pushes back against Porthos carefully, carefully — 

"Wait *just* a moment," Porthos says, reaching between them — and nestling his cock in Aramis's *cleft*. 

"Unh — I — I —" 

"Do you like that, precious...?" And Porthos *rocks* in Aramis's cleft — 

"Please, yes, please, yes —" 

"Do you want to get fucked? Mm?" 

Aramis flushes *hard* — "Please fuck me, my Master! Please do it very hard!" 

"Hurt you?" 

Aramis tries to *grind* back against Porthos's cock — 

"Stay still, precious. You don't get to move, yet." 

"I am sorry, Master!" 

"Shh, it's all right. I didn't tell you that rule," Porthos says, and cups Aramis's pectoral muscles with his rough hands — 

Strokes down his chest and belly — 

Aramis pants — 

"Answer my question, precious. Tell me if you want me to *hurt* you when I fuck you." 

*When* — Aramis grins and keeps himself still, *still*. "I have enjoyed being disciplined this way, as well!"

Porthos growls — but it doesn't sound like his other growls tonight. 

"My Master? Is all well?" 

Porthos licks his *ear* — 

"Ah —" 

"All is well, precious. I just don't like the idea of people *punishing* you by *fucking* you." 

"But..." 

"But *you* like it, and that's the important thing." 

Aramis frowns. "Is it, my Master?" 

"Oh, precious... it is. It *is*," he says, stroking down to Aramis's hips and gripping *tightly* — 

Rocking once, *twice* —- 

"You feel so *good* —" 

"Please, my Master..." 

"You need more. You'll have it," Porthos says, and *nips* Aramis's ear — 

"Oh, yes —" 

"I can't punish you that way, precious. It's not in me. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't *have* it," Porthos says, and nips Aramis's ear again — 

Again — 

Licks *in* — 

Aramis *pants* more. "My Master — my Master will... share me?" 

Porthos's growl sounds hungry, sounds strained, sounds — 

Aramis is not certain. "Please —" 

"Your Master wants you to have everything you need, precious. Your Master *needs* you to have everything you need. Even if that means *temporarily* letting you out of his hands." 

Temporarily — 

Aramis swallows — 

Blushes *and* flushes — 

Porthos's hands on his hips are so *hard*, so *tight* — 

So easy to settle into. "My Master will always... take me back." 

"Your Master has your scent in his nose now, precious," Porthos says, and sniffs into Aramis's hair. "I'll hunt you down everywhere you go. Everywhere." 

And that — "I do not usually... stay with one Master." 

"I know," Porthos says, and sniffs more — 

Licks the back of Aramis's neck — 

*Bites* — 

Aramis gasps and feels himself going *loose* — 

Porthos *holds* the bite for long moments — 

Growls *low* and — possessive. 

Aramis can feel it. 

Aramis can't *avoid* feeling it, and he has known it before, *seen* it before from other men and women who have wanted him — 

Wanted to *keep* — but. 

But. 

They have not wanted *him*. 

They have not *known* him, and so they *could* not have wanted him even if they had been capable of it in the first place. 

They had not wanted to keep him. 

*This* man does. 

Porthos wants everything of him — and deserves everything of him. That is what makes him so *fearsome* to the man inside Aramis. 

That — 

Porthos deserves his honesty, his obedience, his *allegiance*. 

Deserves it the way no one has in so *long*. 

Porthos —

His —

His *Master* does. His Master who loves him and desires him and *craves* him and *aches* for him and —

Aramis pants and pants and — "*Please*!" 

Master *stops* growling, but keeps holding the bite for another moment, flexing his hands on Aramis's hips before *slowly* pulling back — 

Aramis *whines* — 

Master presses his soft, wet lips to Aramis's ear. "Tell me what you need, precious. Tell me what you're *thinking*." 

"I need you, my Master! I need *you*, and what you say, and what you *decide* for me. I will *obey*. I will tell you *everything*, I will answer every *question*. I will — I will —" 

"You'll..." Master licks his lips and pants. "You'll make it *easy* for your Master to choose things for you?" 

"Oh — *yes*!" 

"You'll make it so your Master can make it right for both of us?" 

"Yes, *please*, Master! And if you wish to share me, I am certain you will choose *well*." 

Master takes a *hurt*-sounding breath — and then growls *deep*. "I've some ideas about that, precious..." 

"Oh — oh, *Master* —" 

"But it's *my* time now," he says, and *kisses* Aramis's ear — 

"Yes, please!" 

"It's my time to make my boy *right*." 

"Yes — *yes* —" 

"Spread your legs over mine. Plant your feet — yeah. *Just* like that." 

"Oh — oh — I feel very exposed, my Master..." 

Master growls. "A good boy is *always* exposed for his Master... even when he's fully-clothed." 

"Oh — yes?" 

"Mm. A *good* boy never hides from his Master. Never... never hides a damned *thing*, Master says, and cups Aramis's balls in one hand — 

Aramis gasps — "I will never!" 

"That's right you won't. But you've a lesson to learn..." 

"I do — I will!" 

Master rumbles. "Your balls feel perfect in my hand. So tender. So *vulnerable*." 

Aramis *whimpers* — "I — I — please, Master, please —" 

"Please what, mm?" 

"Please *teach* me!" 

Master licks a long stripe up the side of Aramis's neck — and *squeezes* Aramis's balls, slowly increasing the pressure — 

Gripping him — 

*Keeping* — "My little precious has to learn to take care of himself. To... mm. You could've made Jason and Treville bring *us* to *you*, precious..." 

Aramis pants and pants and tries not to *squirm* — 

He is so *hard* — 

He tries not to — but he can make noise. There's nothing to resist. Master is no *unworthy* man to *deny*. Aramis *groans* for the feel of Master's fist getting tighter and *tighter* — 

Groans and *sweats* — 

Shudders — 

And Master breathes hot on Aramis's ear. "You'll take all the pain for your Master. Won't you." 

Aramis *gasps* — "Yes! Please!" 

"You'll... mm. You'll show me *exactly* what a good boy you can be." 

"I will!" 

"Then take this," Master says, and *pumps* Aramis's balls, squeezing *harder* before *loosening* his grip nearly completely — 

Aramis *yelps* — 

And groans *more* for the feeling of blood rushing back to his balls, for the tingling and burning and *ache* — 

He is *panting* — 

His cock jerks twice —

He is tingling so *much* —

And before it stops Master is pumping again — 

*Again* — 

Squeezing hard and *holding* — 

Aramis is already *dripping* on Master's *hand* —

"My — my *Master*!" 

"Good boy... tell me all about it..." 

"It is so good, so *good*!" 

Master growls and wraps his other arm around Aramis's *chest* — 

Holds him *tight* — 

"You're *mine*." 

"Yes! Yes, I am!" 

"You're mine and you always would've *been* mine. No matter *where* we met." 

"Please, yes!" 

"Here it comes..." And Master eases his grip again — 

Aramis shudders and gasps — 

And gasps — 

And struggles to hold *still*, not move, not *buck* as the blood comes rushing back — 

As he aches and clenches and flexes — 

His cock jerks *twice* — 

"You know your cock is next, right, precious...?" 

Aramis bucks and *yells* — 

Porthos growls a *laugh* — 

"I apologize! I —" 

"Shh, precious. It's all right. You'll work it off," Master says, and squeezes *again* — 

Aramis screams as his cock spasms and *leaks* — 

"Oh, my boy, my boy..." 

"*Yours*!" 

"I could spend just like this, precious," Master says, holding him so *tightly*. 

Aramis whimpers — "I — I — yes?" 

"Nestled in your cleft and holding you tight..." Master licks his cheek — 

Licks him and *licks* him — 

Bites his *ear* — "You're right where you belong." 

"Yes, I am! Please, my Master, *keep* me —" 

"I'll never let you *go*," Master snarls, and bites Aramis's *throat* — 

Aramis cries out — Master's *teeth* feel sharper! 

And then Master eases his grip on Aramis's *balls* again — 

Holds them *loosely* while the blood comes *flooding* back — 

Aramis can't hold back a *howl* as he clenches and jerks — 

Master *bucks* — 

Rocks and rocks and *fucks* Aramis's cleft — 

His cock is so thick, so wet, so hot, so *hard* — 

So sleek and *wet* — 

*Aramis's* cock is leaking all over Master's dark and beautiful *hand* — 

And the *bed* — 

Aramis's balls are screaming even as Aramis *howls* — 

He is hot, he is *hot* — 

And Master squeezes him again, growls more, growls into Aramis's *neck* — 

Aramis can feel it in his *spine* — 

It makes him yell, makes him want to arch, want to buck, want to *touch* himself —

Please please — 

The squeeze to his balls is a relief, a — 

And then the pain *registers* again, and it is perfection, beautiful, *correct* — 

He is being disciplined — 

Made *correct* — 

He is shuddering all *over*, *hard*, sweating — 

Wet — 

*Wet* — 

And Master is licking him, lapping at him like the hound he is, growling and rumbling and pinching Aramis's *nipples* — 

Aramis grunts and *shouts* — 

"D'you like that? Mm?" 

Aramis nods and nods — no, words, his Master needs — "Yes, Master, please, Master, always *touch* me!" 

And Master strokes up to his *throat*! "Here?" 

"Anything for you!" 

"*Shit* —" And Master *pumps* his balls and squeezes his throat — 

Aramis gasps and can get nothing — 

He forces himself not to struggle — 

He forces himself to be still, so still, to fall into the painful pleasure of having his balls *worked* and just — 

Go loose. 

*Give* — 

He is his *Master's* boy —

"You're so perfect. You're so beautiful. My perfect little killer..." 

Aramis *bucks* — 

"I have to hurt you for that... but we both know you'll love it..." 

Aramis tries to *nod* — 

"Shh, shh, no, be still. Be still," Master says, and kisses his cheek — 

And eases his grip on Aramis's balls but not his *throat* — 

Aramis tries and fails to gasp again and *again* — 

He can't — 

He is *burning* — 

His cock is spattering *everything* — 

He must not writhe — 

He must not — 

"Once your punishment's done... I'm going to make you ride me." 

Aramis *jerks* — 

"Hrr. Face-to-face. A man should always see his boy, so pretty and stuffed and sweet — 

Aramis *bucks* — 

Master *squeezes* his balls and releases his throat — 

Aramis gasps and *howls* — 

*Master* bucks — "Beautiful — *beautiful* — just keep *taking* it —" 

"I — I — *yes*! I will!" 

And Master pumps his balls again — 

Again and again and — 

Aramis *sobs* — 

Whimpers and tries not to toss his *head* — 

His *cheeks* are wet — 

His *hole* is wet with Master's *slick* — 

He is marked, *marked* — Aramis grins *helplessly* and sobs again as his cock tries to *plaster* itself to his belly — 

"Oh, *precious*. You won't get away from me..." 

"No! No, I will not!" 

"You won't..." Master growls and licks his *tears* away — "Nnh. I *need* you!" 

"Please take!" 

Master squeezes *hard*, throat and balls — 

Aramis goes *rigid* — 

Holds on — 

Holds *on* — 

He has been given *no* permission to *spend* — 

"Oh, precious... I see..." And Master licks him and licks him and *licks* him, everywhere he can *reach*. 

Aramis tries and fails to *pant* — 

He aches so *much* — 

He is so *hard* — 

And Master nips his *cheek*. 

Aramis blinks and blinks and tries to *focus* — 

"Listen carefully, precious. I'm going to start disciplining your cock *very* soon —" 

Aramis's cock jerks and jerks so *messily* — 

"Oh, that's gorgeous. Good boy. *Listen*," Master says, and eases his grip on Aramis's throat. 

"Yes, Master, please, Master, I am listening!" 

"You're so good, you're taking this sweet —" Master growls. "And I need to focus, *too*," he says, and laughs — 

And licks Aramis's ear — 

And breathes *hot* there. "You're going to spend for me just as soon as I *tell* you to once I start hurting your pretty cock, precious..." 

"Unh — *UNH* —" 

"You're going to make a *big* mess for your Master as I hurt you and hurt you and *hurt* you..." 

Aramis *bucks* — 

"Oh, precious... mm. Here," Master says, and eases his grip on Aramis's balls — 

The blood seems to *thunder* back to them — 

Aramis *screams* — 

He — he *can't* keep himself from bucking, from writhing, from twisting and *moving* — 

"Oh, precious, you're just so *beautiful*... but it's time for you to be. *Still*." 

And Aramis *grunts*, slamming himself back against Porthos and shaking, *quivering* — 

He must not be bad, he must not be *bad* — 

His balls hurt so *much* — 

They are swollen, *throbbing* — they must be so *red* — 

Aramis sobs and *trembles*, cock jerking over and over again — and then Master *grips* his cock and *strokes*, hard and *tight* — 

"M-MASTER!" 

Master growls another laugh. "Now, let's get started," he says, gripping Aramis by the *base* of his cock and *slapping* it — 

Aramis *yells* — 

The blood is still rushing back to his *balls* — 

Master had not slapped *lightly* — 

His hand is so hard, so rough, so *callused* — 

The sting of it is loud, wonderful, shocking, *beautiful* — 

"Please, more! Please, *more*!" 

"Good *boy*," Master says, and slaps him *again* — 

Aramis yells again, tosses his head — no, he is still, he is *still* — 

Master slaps him again, again — 

Aramis *croaks* a yell, and now his cock is hot, aching, spattering the bed with slick and spasming in Master's *hand* — 

"Such a good boy. Such a —" Master rumbles. "You've needed *just* this." 

Aramis opens his mouth to say yes, to *beg* — and *sobs*. 

"Is that so...?" 

"I — I mean —" 

"Will you weep for me even more, precious? Will you weep even as you *spend*?" 

"I will do anything for you!" 

Master snarls and smacks him again — 

Again and again, over and *over* — 

Aramis sobs and sniffles and *grips* at the sheets with his fingers and toes — 

He must stay still — 

He must not *buck* into every smack like a callow *boy* — 

He must take — 

He must — 

He will be good for his Master, good for this man who takes care of him, desires him, *loves* — 

"You've got me all *hard* again, precious..." 

Aramis sobs and *shouts* — 

"You've got me all needy and *hungry* and —" Master growls and slaps him *hard* — 

Aramis *shrieks* and does not spend, does not *spend* — 

"That's right, that's good, you just... hold on a little longer," Master says, and strokes Aramis's sweaty skin, slides his strong hands all over him, *caresses* him everywhere *except* his genitals — 

"Yes, Master — y-yes —" 

"That's it... you can do it for me. You *will* do it for me." 

"I will!" 

"My precious boy. My perfect little killer. Naked and perfect with your knives on — and still ready to do some damage to anyone who might *need* it, I'd wager..." And Master sounds so pleased, so — so *covetous* — 

"I — I must *always* be ready!" 

"Mm. That's my boy. I'll never let you *go*, precious. I'll never let you up for *air*." 

"Please —" 

"Now," Master says, and smacks the *head* of Aramis's cock — 

Aramis *howls* — 

Master does it *again* — 

"Master, please, please, *please*!" 

"Good *boy*. *Spend*." 

Aramis gasps in *shock* — but his body is already tensed, already arching — 

He is burning, aching, on *fire* — 

He is spurting all over Master's *hand* — 

Master is *stroking* his cock, squeezing and massaging it *viciously*, stroking it, and — 

And his other hand is on Aramis's *balls* — 

Aramis howls again *before* Master squeezes — 

Aramis is spurting so *much* — 

Master is *milking* him — "Good *boy*. Giving up all your spend for me, getting me all dirty, making this room *smell* right —" Master rumbles and rumbles and squeezes with *both* hands — 

Aramis sobs and *spasms* — but no more comes out. 

Master rumbles more and licks Aramis's throat and shoulder — and gently *cups* his cock and balls. "There you are," he says, and licks Aramis more. "Mm. Perfect boy. Your punishment's all done, precious. You did so well. So *perfectly*." 

Aramis pants and pants and — 

Slumps. 

Tries to breathe — 

Tries to *think* — 

He cannot think, yet. 

He — 

He needs to be closer to his Master. 

He tries to push back, but they're already plastered together that way. It — 

"Mm? Tell me what's wrong, precious." 

"I — I... do not know." 

"I don't think that's true..." 

"Oh — no, I — what's wrong makes no *sense*, my Master —" 

"That's not for little boys to decide," Master says, low and rumbling and even. 

"No, my Master?" 

"No, precious. You come to your Master with *everything* confusing," Master says, and licks him more — 

More — 

"You let your Master take *care* of you." 

Aramis shivers. "I — wanted to be closer to you, somehow, but we are already pressed *together* —" 

"But you don't *feel* close enough. I understand, precious. I'd wager you didn't spend too much time cuddling up with your other sex partners. I don't think you know the best *positions* for it." 

Aramis blinks. "This... is not a good position?" 

"It is for some, little precious. It *is*. But... it also leaves your front all exposed, except for where my arms are. That's not *optimal*." 

"Yes, I see!" 

"If we were *under* the covers..." 

"Yes, yes —" 

"Is that what my little precious needs?" 

Aramis grins and opens his mouth — stops. "My Master must fuck me..." 

Master *rumbles* a laugh. "He certainly must... but. I can wait a *little* while. Especially if it means I get to hold my little precious." 

"Oh — you must not let me make you wait too *long*, my Master!" 

Master licks Aramis again and again — 

Licks into his ear — 

His mouth — "Mm. I want you. I need you. I *love* you —" 

Aramis *pants* — 

"And I'm not going to make either of us wait for anything," Master says, and hauls them up off the side of the bed — 

"My Master —" 

"*Just* a moment..." And Master flings the duvet back and *bundles* Aramis into the bed — 

Aramis giggles and squirms — 

Master grins and kisses him all over his face — and then *licks* him all over his face — 

And then they're both under the duvet, face to face, and Master is holding Aramis close — 

So — 

They're actually *less* pressed-together than they had been before, but it *feels* more — 

Feels *better* — 

Aramis *grins* — 

"Yeah, you like *this*..." 

"With *you*, my Master!" 

Master licks his lips and slips one arm under Aramis's head, petting Aramis's face with the other hand. "Mm. I want you to be *surrounded* by people who feel good to you. Who feel *right* to you." And Master rests his thumb just below Aramis's lower lip. "I want you to have a family." 

"Like... you do?" 

Master pants — 

And *pants* — 

And squeezes his *eyes* shut — 

"No, my Master?" 

"*Yes*, but — I don't think I should be pushing you on this right now. Even though... even though we've both said all those things," Master says, and opens his eyes. He's smiling ruefully, and his eyes are *soft* — 

*Gentle* — 

Ready to *care* for Aramis — 

"You... you have said that I do not *need* to think about these things now." 

"That's right. And it's *wrong* of me to bring it up like this —" 

"But my Master is hungry," Aramis says, and licks his lips. "Hungry for *this* thing." 

Master winces with need — "Yeah. Yeah, I am. I'll never lie to you." 

Aramis nods. "I will remember that my Master needs this for me. I will remember that my Master has this *hunger* for me —" 

"Aramis —" 

"I will remember that my Master *aches* for my happiness and comfort and warmth." 

"Oh — fuck," Master says, and licks Aramis's mouth, his cheeks — 

His throat and *back* to his mouth again — 

Again — 

Aramis moans and licks him back. 

He will be good for his Master. 

*Always*.


	20. BREAKING: Treville is *still* an arse.

Jason turns away from the scrying-bowl to get a *good* look at Treville, who is still staring fixedly. 

They're no longer tied — more's the pity — but that *does* mean they've both had an excellent *view* this last little while. 

And... 

"You're thinking something evil over there," Treville says. 

"I would *never*." 

Treville looks at him. 

"Hardly ever?" 

Treville grunts. "I'm braced. Hit me." 

Jason grins. "Have you put *much* thought into your son torturing your balls, amant?" 

Treville sighs. "No, I haven't," he says, and shakes his head sadly. "So much wasted time." 

Jason laughs helplessly — 

And Treville winks at him. "I mostly thought about torturing *his* bollocks. *You've* seen them." 

"They're quite impressive, yes. Do they remind you of your Kitos's?" 

"Fuck, no. You couldn't *find* Kitos's bollocks under all the *hair*. He had another full beard down there." 

Jason *snorts*. "So you *didn't* suck them every chance you were given?" 

Treville smiles like a shark. "I didn't say *that*, lover." 

"Mm. There's the man I know, love, and admire *ever* so much." 

Treville bows and flourishes — and glances at the bowl before frowning. 

"Yes?" 

"They look awfully comfortable over there." 

"Is that a *problem*?" 

"It is if they plan on not passing — oh, no, wait, *Aramis* is sober. He won't *let* Porthos pass out without riding him to glory. All is well," Treville says, sighing happily and turning back to Jason with a smile. 

Jason laughs *hard*. 

"Yes?" 

"*Amant*. Were you honestly going to do something to interrupt their tenderly romantic *interlude*?" 

"My boys need to get their ashes hauled, Jason. You know that," Treville says, in the same tone of voice he'd use to speak about the needs of the regiment for enough ammunition or competent farriers. 

Jason *hoots* — "Oh — *fuck*. I didn't make that sound." 

"You truly did, but if you were to shove a shadow up my arse while we wait for our children to get back to business —" 

"Our —" 

"— I promise I'll forget it." 

"You —" 

Treville lolls his tongue. 

"You're an *arse*." 

"An empty, aching, unused, lonely —" 

"Lonely —" Jason shoves a *massive* shadow up Treville's arse — 

Treville yips and yips and pants and *howls* — 

The howl sounds as much like laughter as the yips do. 

The fact that Jason's cock is dripping for it is only what he deserves at this late date.


	21. The *real* reason all the bedroom suites in the de Tréville properties are bristling with weaponry.

There's a part of Porthos which is honestly, openly terrified — of a lot of different things. 

There's the usual terror of fucking things up when you're having *this* kind of sex with *anyone* for the first time — 

And then there's the terror of fucking things up with *Aramis* — 

And then there's the terror of fucking things up with Aramis so *much* that he runs back to his own *sphere* — 

And then there's the terror that he's going to start thinking about the Aramis they'd lost at just the wrong time and *break* — 

And then... 

Then there's the other terror. It's new. Different. *Special*. 

See, it's the terror that's all about the fact that he knows *exactly* what he's doing with Aramis — with *this* Aramis, who's vulnerable in countless ways Porthos can *read*. He knows what he's doing, and how he's doing it, and, even though he's being nothing but *honest* — 

Even though it's all things he *has* to do — all things he's *aching* to do from moment to moment to *moment* — 

He's terrified he's being manipulative. The wrong kind of — no. That's not honest.

He's terrified that Aramis is going to *feel* manipulated, somewhere down the line, and take all this *away* from him. 

Right now, he's lying in Porthos's arms like he was made to be there, like there's nothing more natural, like Porthos teaching him *how* was natural and just — 

Porthos growls and hugs him tighter. 

"Mmmm. My Master is hungrier than he was?" 

And that — 

That is one of the million and a half things that are going to kill him, because there's nothing that sounds better than Aramis calling him that, nothing that *feels* better than *responding* to that — 

*Being* that — "Your Master's hungrier for you with every breath he *takes*, precious," Porthos says, and buries his face in Aramis's sweaty hair *exactly* the way he wants to. 

Aramis giggles. "My Master, I am going to feel very guilty when I wash..." 

"Good. You washing all these scents away is going to be a tragedy for the *ages*." 

Another giggle. "My Master is easy to please!" 

Porthos licks him as his heart pounds. "I'm easy for *you* to please." 

Aramis frowns. "It is not easy for your Athos to please you?" 

"I wouldn't say that. And, when you get right down to it, I *strongly* suspect Treville and Jason could please me pretty easily, too — if in completely different ways." 

"I —" 

"*But*. They're all pretty remarkable people, precious," Porthos says, and wants to shut his teeth on the next words because they're so *manipulative* and wants to do nothing of the kind. "They're all *worthy* people." 

Aramis inhales sharply. "My Master never lies." 

"You can't build anything good on lies, precious. Just — nothing. We're building something beautiful between us right now, and I want to *keep doing that*." 

Aramis licks his lips and pulls back enough that they can face each other. "My Master... for how long?" 

"Aramis. Be sure you want to ask that question. It's not *really* a question for little boys." 

Aramis frowns *adorably* stubbornly — but then his expression suddenly clears, and he's looking at Porthos steadily. "I am certain I wish to ask you this question... Porthos." 

Porthos grunts —

Blinks — that *really* isn't his little precious, anymore.

"Should I — stop touching you?" 

"No. You should answer my question. I... have learned to pull myself up and away from certain states of mind at speed." 

"Aramis —" 

"Please." 

Porthos takes a *deep* breath, gives himself a shake, and nods. "Treville said he wanted to build a forever with me and Athos. I didn't realize that one of the things he was talking about was *immortality*, but there you are — and it *is* only one of the things he was talking about." 

"I —" 

"I want the same with you." 

Aramis *flushes* — and raises an eyebrow. 

"Whether or *not* you're my little precious — or someone else entirely — at the time. I want to know everything about you, love. I want to know you like I know my *guns*." 

"Porthos —" 

"And *part* of you already knows that. How often is that part of you *bad* at making decisions?" 

"He is — he is *reckless* — foolish —" 

"Was he tonight?" 

"*No* — I." Aramis growls and rolls over onto his back. His knives gleam in the moonlight. 

His beautiful body shines with drying sweat. 

His throat is covered in bruises and bite-marks — 

Porthos growls — 

Aramis stiffens and then goes *loose* — 

"I'm not threatening you." 

"I... some things are reflexive when I am not — Porthos."

"I'm listening." 

Aramis turns his head to face him, but not the rest of his body. He smiles, small and rueful and real. "*Porthos*. You convinced the *boy* in me into obeying you utterly. He wished to swear *fealty* to you!" 

"I —" 

"You *must* understand what that *does* to a man. You must understand the desire — the *need*! — for *caution*." 

"I *do*. I absolutely do, but look —" 

"No —" 

"*Wait*," Porthos says, pulling on the command-voice before he can stop himself, before he can *think* — 

And Aramis's eyes are wide, and full, and hungry — "Porthos... I will wait." 

Porthos's cock *jerks* — but. He can control himself. "Thank you. Aramis, I need to know — are you feeling cautious because we're moving so fast, or are you feeling cautious because something *I* did or said made you feel pushed or manipulated in the wrong bloody way?" 

Aramis blinks. "I... the *former*, my Porthos — I mean —" 

Porthos growls — 

"I will not *correct* myself — ah, fuck," Aramis says, and covers his face with both hands before laughing hard. 

But he *moves* his hands almost immediately — 

"A boy is not to hide himself, yes?" 

"Aramis —" 

"How. *How* is this not too fast for *you*, mm?" 

"Because I'm in *love* with you —" 

And Aramis groans. "You are so honest, always so *honest* — you believe and feel these things so *truly* —" 

"*Yes* —" 

"But you have said, in *multiple* ways, that you do not mistake me for your dead love." 

"What? No, I *don't*." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "My Porthos, I think you had a *space* within yourself which was waiting for someone *like* me." 

"*Aramis* —" 

"I think I *fit* in that *hole* —" 

"You're not the same *man*. I — look, do you think I needed weeks and months to fall for *him*?" 

Aramis blinks. "You... did not?" 

"He hit me like a bloody sucker punch — and that's probably the *biggest* similarity the two of you have. You..." Porthos licks his lips. "You don't move the same. You don't *talk* the same. You don't *act* the same — except when you do, and then it's pretty damned clear that it's because you're pulling on things you *both* learned from your time with your *mother*. You don't *fight* the same — how often *do* you use a sword?" 

Aramis blinks — "I — I am good at it, because it is a worthy skill, but it does not often come *up*." 

"No, exactly, it's like the guns, right?" 

"Yes —" 

"Yeah, I could see it on you the second you took two steps around me. And that's — it changes *everything* about the way you present yourself, because you even *hide* how dangerous you are differently from how he did it." 

"I... do?" 

"*He* was always flirting, being the dandy, making people underestimate him *that* way. *You* come off like nobility when you *really* want to hide, and make people think you're a whole different *kind* of dangerous." 

Aramis licks his lips — and nods. "I... have much pride. My teacher always said this." 

"Yeah, eh? Did they try to break you of it?" 

"No... no. She — my Josette was good to me. She *encouraged* my pride in myself. She taught me to only walk small when I *had* to." 

"Oh, I like *her*. *What* did she teach you?" 

Aramis smiles ruefully and wryly. "Magic." 

Porthos blinks. "Oh — oh, Aramis —" 

"Do not say that I do not have to tell you this. I would like to tell you this, my Porthos." 

Porthos rumbles helplessly — 

"I —" And Aramis shakes his head, throws the duvet back, and moves to straddle Porthos — 

"Oh —" 

"I need to touch you. I need to feel you. I need to be *close* to you!" 

Porthos growls and grips Aramis's hips — 

"Ah — oh, my Porthos, my Porthos, she was like my *mother*. She never wanted me to waste time on the *unworthy*, never wanted me to *lose* myself to their *ignorance* and *narrow-mindedness* —" 

"Of course not —" 

"She *loathed* my father — they lived in the same village — and when she found out that he had packed me away to Church schools without either of us knowing his plans ahead of time, she *killed* him —" 

"*Fuck*." 

"She told me *all* of this when I finally found my way back to her. She told me how, and she told me where to find the few bits of bone the wolves she'd called had left. I dug a hole and dropped them in. And then I *spat* in the grave." 

"Oh, love..." 

Aramis licks his lips and stares into Porthos's eyes. "It would've been better, perhaps, if she had been a spirit-mage. If she could have *twisted* my father's mind enough that he brought me *home* to her — and her teaching! But that was beyond her. I appreciated her vengeance very, very much, my Porthos. It was... one of the few gifts I *could* accept at that point." 

Porthos nods and strokes Aramis firmly, pets him and *grips* him — 

"The other was her teaching. *Always* her teaching. She was very old when I... got back to her, and not far from death, but she held on much longer than she had been planning to for *me*. She taught me *much*. And she taught me how to learn still more." 

Aramis shivers and obviously looks into the past. 

"When she *did* die, I was dozing in my bedroll next to her pallet, waiting to see if she needed water, or perhaps a little broth. Her half-wild cats were all around, and she touched us all before she left. 

"She...

"I wonder if, perhaps, your Aramis would say she blessed us." And Aramis focuses on *him* again. 

And... there's a lot there. 

A lot that needs to be — 

"First off, Aramis? I'm sorry you lost her. It's obvious she was good to you." 

"Yes." 

"I — I want that for you. I want you to be surrounded —" 

"By warmth and happiness and — love. You hunger for this," Aramis says, and his eyes darken with their own hunger.

Porthos strokes Aramis's thighs — 

His hips — 

His belly —

"Porthos —" 

"I love you. I'm *in* love with you. You —" Porthos growls. "A *part* of you is already mine. Right?" 

Aramis licks his lips and studies him — but only for a moment before he cocks his head to the side. "*You* can be a cautious man." 

"What?" 

"I believe you already know that you have put an invisible *collar* around my *throat* —" 

Porthos *snarls* — 

And Aramis inhales sharply. "These words meant much to you..." 

Porthos blinks — 

Stops — 

*Stops* — "I... more than I was expecting them to." 

Aramis strokes Porthos's cheek — and his ear. "My Porthos is a dog. A very beautiful, very strong..." He licks his lips. "Do you need your Aramis to take care with his speech?" 

"Wait, wait —" 

"I do not *wish* to wait —" 

"But you *will*," Porthos says, and uses the command-voice — 

Aramis grunts — "How do you *doubt* that I belong to you?" 

"I *don't*. You're *right*." 

"Then —" 

"I *doubt* that you don't *resent* that." 

Aramis *jerks* — that pulled him up short. 

That — 

Porthos sits up — keeping a grip on those hips — and shakes himself out a little. "It's all right, Aramis." 

"Is it?" 

"Yeah. Because you haven't had anything *good* from belonging to people for a damned long time. Right?" 

Aramis lifts his chin — lowers it immediately. "Yes." 

"And you don't know me as well as you want to —" 

"I know my Porthos well *enough*. And that... is part of the problem." 

Porthos flares his nostrils. "Tell me why — no. You *want* to want to know me better. You want to *need* that." 

"Yes, my Porthos. I want to be... stronger than this." 

"That's not stronger." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

Porthos cups his face and rests his forehead against Aramis's own. 

"My Porthos..." 

"Mm. Sorry," Porthos says, and looks up again. "Just needed to feel you for a moment." 

Aramis takes a hitching breath. "You need not apologize for that." 

"No?"

"No. I... I want you to touch me. I want to *feel* you — tell me what your definition of strength is." 

"Right, it's like this: Strength is what you have right down at the bottom of you, deep inside, that lets you keep going when you *need* to keep going and you have nothing else. Strength isn't physical, or moral. It's just everything you have that gets you out of bed of a morning, and —" 

"It. I believe you are speaking of what a person lives for, my Porthos." 

"We *take* our strength from those things." 

Aramis stares into his eyes almost wildly — and then he ducks his head and smiles. 

"Beautiful. What's that about, eh?" 

"Treville — and M'sieu Blood — would say that I am a stronger man now than I was this afternoon." 

Porthos blinks — 

Growls *desperately* — 

*Grips* Aramis by the back of the neck and by the hair — 

"Oh, my Porthos —" 

"I *love* you. I *need* you. I need you here, with me. *With* me." 

"You cannot —" And Aramis *tries* to turn away, but Porthos can't let him. He looks wounded. He — 

"Aramis, tell me. Tell me so I can *fix* it." 

"What will you do, mm? What will you do with a living Aramis when all the world knows that Aramis is *dead*." 

And Porthos's stomach *drops* — 

He hadn't *thought* — 

(Son,) *Treville* says, (there's more than one reason why I didn't let you or Athos anywhere near the garrison after that mission.) 

I — what — 

(No one knows.) 

Bloody *what*? 

(No one. Knows.) 

The *Duc* — 

(Owes me — and you, and Athos, and *Aramis* — the life of his *child*. Not to mention the fact that he and I were already friends.) 

You... planned this. Somehow you were already... 

(Yes, son. I did, and I was. Now reassure your love.) 

Porthos blushes *hard* — 

Tries to pull his bloody *scrambled* thoughts into *some* sort of *order* — 

"Who. Who was speaking with you?" 

— but there isn't time for that. "That — Treville. He saw or felt or heard me panicking about *your* questions... uh. He hasn't told *anyone* about Aramis's death," Porthos says, and looks into Aramis's eyes. 

Aramis blinks — 

Pales — 

*Blushes* almost immediately — 

"You're thinking about how much those questions of yours revealed about what's going through your head." 

"Porthos — my Porthos —" 

"I *want* you here, love," Porthos says, and *grips* Aramis's hair. "I want you here bloody forever." 

"Should I ask what you mean by forever?" And Aramis blushes harder — 

"I mean *forever*." 

"I..." 

"And I know you actually *do* need to think about this. I know..." Porthos licks his lips. "The last thing I want to do is chase you away." 

"Did. Did your Aramis run from you?" 

Porthos looks at Aramis steadily. "You're my Aramis, too, love." 

"I —" 

"And yeah, he did," Porthos says, and massages the back of Aramis's neck. 

"That — that feels — different. From you." 

"Better? Or just different." 

Aramis blushes again. "Better. Please — please tell me how he ran from you — "

"I think you know, love... but I'll tell you. It wasn't when I asked too many personal questions — he could deflect those easily if he wanted to — and it wasn't when I flirted too much, because he could just laugh that off." 

"Then... when?" 

"When we were sharing secrets. When we were sharing secrets, and it was late, and we were both a *little* drunk, but not very, and we were hot — I could always see it on him; I knew how he'd get just as well as he knew how *I'd* get from all the whoring we did together."

"You were... talking about sex?" 

"Sometimes — but usually not. Usually we were talking about... really important things. Hopes and dreams. Fears and love." 

"Oh..." 

"Yeah. We were knowing each other. *Feeling* each other. Opening right up for each other and giving each other everything we could. And making each other *feel* it." 

"Fuck — I want — never mind —" 

"You want that, and you'll have it. From me *and* from the rest of us —" 

"*Porthos* —" 

"*Your* Porthos. I can make that promise, love. I know my *family*." 

"You do *not* know Jason Blood!" 

"But I know the kind of man — the kind of *person* — Treville goes for now. You'll *have* it." 

Aramis pants — 

Pants more — 

"Tell me more about your Aramis *running* from you!" 

"He would plead the late hour. He would say he had an appointment to keep with some fine lady. He would say anything — though, now that I think about it? The closer we were getting to each other, the more likely it was that he'd pull out the fine lady excuse." 

"Oh, my Porthos..." 

"Yeah. He was afraid — and I *know* you already knew that. Didn't you?" 

"I — yes. I suspected it from how you described him earlier. How he would spend *nearly* every waking moment with you and Athos, and then turn around and seduce every woman he could. I... it made me think that he held himself in contempt for his desires." 

"I don't know. I bloody *hope* not, and I think the chances are at least *good* that he didn't — considering how he spoke about *his* God —" 

"Yes, but —" 

"*But*, you're right, I don't know. He *was* the sort of man to hold himself to higher — or 'higher' — standards than everyone else. He *was* the sort of man to think he should be able to do the impossible just because he put his mind to it." 

"Should is meaningless —" 

"That's *right* —" 

"But..." 

"Mm?" 

Aramis licks his lips and smiles ruefully. "We both know I have my own difficulties with... sex. Sexuality." 

Porthos breathes deep and *squeezes* the back of Aramis's neck. "Want to help you with those." 

"I... had hoped that my difficulties would not make the sex displeasing for you —" 

"What — oh, bloody hell, love, the sex has been *wonderful*. *Incredible*. You did *everything* right." 

Aramis flushes — "I — everything...?" 

"*Yes*, love. I just... I want you to be happy. I want to *help* you because I *need* you to be happy. To be... free." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow *slowly*. 

Porthos laughs hard. "Right, no. Free of everything but *me*." 

Aramis smiles, small and bright. 

"You're so bloody beautiful." 

"Do you want to shoot melons off my beautiful head?" 

"Nah. You seem more a pig's-bladder-full-of —" 

"There is nothing you can finish that sentence with that will redeem it, my Porthos." 

"... ambrosia?" 

Aramis shakes his head. 

Porthos laughs again and kisses him — 

And kisses him — 

And *licks* him, because he can't seem to *make* himself kiss again — 

Can't seem to remember bloody *how* — 

But licking is wonderful, licking is perfect — 

Aramis turns his face up *into* it and just — 

Oh, so — 

"Oh, Aramis, you're *perfect* —" 

"I think..." And Aramis pulls back a little and licks his lips. His eyes are wide. 

"Mm?" 

"I believe that if you had... pushed your Aramis, the way you pushed me —" 

Porthos grunts — and covers Aramis's mouth.

Aramis frowns with his *entire* face. 

Porthos smiles ruefully and moves his hand. "I won't lie to you, love. A part of me is going to be thinking about that for a long time to come —" 

"*Yes*. That is what I'm —" 

"Wait, though, love —" 

"Porthos —" 

"*Your* Porthos." 

Aramis's expression is bruised. So — hurt. 

"Your Porthos, love, because..." Porthos shakes his head. "I've been thinking about it down deep, and I *will* think about it more in the future — that's just how people work. But I'm in love with you, *too*. You —" Porthos smiles ruefully. "If I wasn't? I wouldn't have been able to do *any* of this with you." 

Aramis blinks. "No?" 

"No, love," Porthos says, and cups Aramis's face again. "This... well, this kind of lovemaking needs more from me than just attraction *anyway*. It always has." 

"Oh."

"It's one thing if I'm going to a lady or gentleman of custom to get a hiding —" 

"I!" 

"I've had *immensely* bad luck finding *lovers* who were capable of giving that sort of thing to me, but listen." 

"I — I — yes, Porthos," Aramis says, and looks scrambled, thoughtful, *hungry* — 

"You're so bloody *gorgeous*." And Porthos licks his lips. "I — just this: If I'm going to make love to someone and give myself to them *this* way... well, that's just it. It *has* to be making love. It can't just be another tumble. I told you that I've had dangerous boys for a night, here and there, and I *have*, but that... that never went very *far*. They were never giving themselves to me, and I wasn't giving myself to *them*. How can you, when it's just for a night? When no one *knows* anyone else?" 

"I — I know that I have not truly been giving myself to all of those others who I eventually *killed*, but... but please tell me more." 

"Right. I knew you understood. So there's that, *and*, when you add the fact that you're who you are..." Porthos shakes his head and swallows. "You're *exactly* who you are, love. And that means that I wouldn't have been able to do *anything* with you if it hadn't been making love." 

"Oh... Porthos..." 

"Yeah," Porthos says, and smiles. "You've had me, all right? *You* have. You're not a bloody replacement, or whatever it is you're thinking." 

"I... it is hard not to think these thoughts." 

Porthos nods. "Tell me how to help. Tell me how to make it *better*." 

"I..." And Aramis ducks his head and laughs hard, laughs almost *desperately* — 

"*That's* good to hear, but..." 

"My Porthos, I feel as though you have ordered me to tell you how to *own* me better!" 

Porthos rumbles helplessly. "Really, now..." 

"My Porthos —" 

"My Aramis," Porthos says, and cups the back of Aramis's neck again while *petting* his face. 

"Oh..." 

"Yeah. You're mine, and you can be *more* mine... and I think that would be better for both of us." And Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

Aramis licks his lips. "You... think?" 

Porthos rumbles and rumbles — no. "You're absolutely right, love. I should never hedge my bets with *you*." 

"I —" 

"I *know* it would be better for both of us if you belonged to me even more than you already do." 

Aramis makes a low, hungry noise — 

Porthos growls — "Let's make that happen, love. *Tell* me how to make that happen." 

Aramis pants — 

Pants more — 

"I — I... don't..." 

"You don't what? Mm?" And Porthos squeezes the back of Aramis's neck. "We both know it's *right* for you to belong to me. Don't we." 

"My — my Porthos —" 

"Shh. Breathe yourself down a little," Porthos says, and moves his other hand down so he can pet Aramis's chest. 

"I —" 

"Just breathe for now. That's all you have to do." 

Aramis blinks — 

Blushes — 

"That's... all?" 

"That's right. Just breathe for me. Nice and slow and easy. Nice and *deep*." 

Aramis nods and obeys, meeting Porthos's eyes the whole time. 

Breathing slower and deeper — 

His eyes are getting wider and *hungrier* — 

*Darker* — 

Porthos keeps the hand on the back of his neck nice and hard and steady, and strokes him with the other. "Oh, Aramis, that's just perfect. You're doing just right for me..." 

Aramis flushes deeper and keeps breathing — 

And keeps breathing — 

And he's damned well getting harder again. Just — 

"Perfect, love. Just perfect. Are you ready to talk again? Nod or shake your head." 

Aramis moans — and nods. 

Porthos strokes him more firmly. "That's good, love — but I need you to understand that you don't *have* to be ready to talk in order to please me. Do you understand?" 

Aramis shivers and shivers — and pleads with his eyes. 

"You have a question, love?" 

Aramis nods.

Porthos rumbles. "Ask it. Go on." 

"I. I would like to know if you *want* my words, my Porthos." 

"I want everything from you, love." 

"No — no." And Aramis ducks his head. 

"Oh, shh, shh, breathe. Breathe and think about how to tell me what's *wrong*." 

Aramis nods — 

And breathes — 

And breathes — 

Porthos strokes Aramis's chest and keeps his grip on the back of Aramis's neck nice and firm. "I've got you, love." 

"I. I am ready..." 

"Mm. Would you like to keep your head down, love...?" 

Aramis moans — 

Leans in just a little — 

Porthos rumbles and *pulls* Aramis in, tucking his head in against his own throat — 

"Oh — thank you, my Porthos." 

"You're *welcome*, love. I *love* this." 

Another moan — "I. I do, as well," he says, and kisses Porthos's throat softly. 

Porthos's cock jerks — 

"Oh — does my Porthos need —" 

"Shh," Porthos says, and licks Aramis's cheek — 

Aramis shivers — 

"Your Porthos needs to know what's wrong, mm? Let's fix it. Let's fix everything we *can*." 

Another shiver — "Yes, my Porthos. Yes. I. I wondered if you truly wanted *my* words —" 

"I —" 

"— as opposed to the words of the *boy* in me." 

Porthos rumbles and *nips* Aramis's cheek — 

"Ah —" 

"I want *everything* from you, love. Like I said. Teach me what making love to *you* is like. Teach me how *you* — but." 

"I. Yes, my Porthos?" 

"*Do* you like to serve, love? Or is that *just* for the boy in you?" 

"I..." Aramis blushes and doesn't say anything. 

For a *while*. 

And that... 

Porthos strokes his back and gives him a *long* lick. 

"Oh — my Porthos —" 

"I think, maybe, you're not certain about that, love..."

Aramis shivers *again* — "I apologize, I will give you the boy, I —" 

"Shh, no. You don't *want* to give me the boy. Right?" And Porthos pulls back enough that they can see each other's eyes. 

Aramis pants a little. "I... if it is what you *wish* —" 

"You. *All* of you." 

"My *Porthos* —" 

"And I'm not going to feel *right* if you don't get what you need. Remember, love?" 

Aramis blushes — and ducks his head again. "Yes, my Porthos. I apologize for forgetting." 

Porthos moves his free hand back to Aramis's face and pets and caresses. "It's all right, love. There's just a *few* things going on tonight, eh?" 

Aramis laughs — "*Yes*, my Porthos," he says, and looks up with bright eyes — 

Porthos studies them and *hungers* — 

*Thrills* — 

"Beautiful." 

"When. I smile like him?" 

"You don't, you know. Not most of the time." 

Aramis blinks. 

Porthos caresses his face again. "Your smiles are... younger. Unpracticed." 

"I. What?" 

"Your *real* smiles haven't been aired-out, love," Porthos says, and raises his eyebrows. 

Aramis blinks again — and nods. "Your... the other Aramis was happier." 

"Yeah. He was." 

Aramis cocks his head to the side and smiles wickedly. "Perhaps you will confuse the two of us when you have had *time* to make me happy each and every day." 

Porthos coughs a laugh. "*Somehow* I doubt that, love." 

Aramis smiles softly and ducks his head again. "You make me doubt this thing, too." 

"Good —" 

"My Porthos... I have not given... this part of myself to anyone." He blushes deeply. 

And Porthos licks his lips and just — thinks about that for a moment. 

He doesn't stop petting, and he doesn't move his hand from the back of Aramis's neck — 

But... 

"Is this. Is this well?" And Aramis looks up with wide eyes. 

"It is, love. It *really* is," Porthos says, and smiles helplessly. "You want to give me something..." Porthos licks his lips. "You want to give me something no one's ever had before." 

Aramis parts his lips — 

Licks them — 

"You find this... valuable." 

"I do. And I want to make sure I do *everything* right. Everything I *can* do to be *worth* something so valuable." 

Aramis *stares* at him. 

"Mm? What is it, love?" 

"Did you think that you would *not* be worth me, my Porthos?" 

Porthos smiles and presses on Aramis's chest, just above his quick-beating heart — 

"Oh —" 

"I *think* we can agree that these things are easier when both parties are... experienced...?" And Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"You need not —" 

"Shh, shh. I *want* this. All I'm saying? Is that I'm a *little* more intimidated about messing up than I was before." 

"My Porthos should *not* be intimidated in *any* way —" 

"Love —" 

"My Porthos should know that I am *his*, his to do with what he *will* —" 

"*Aramis* —" 

"*No*. I am *giving* myself to you, my Porthos. Your choices are all. Your *desires* are all. *Please*." And Aramis's eyes are *blazing* at him — 

Gleaming *gold* as his magic gets away from him just a little bit — 

Or. 

Maybe he's just showing Porthos his resolve. 

Maybe he's *offering* himself just that little bit *more*. 

Porthos pants. "You get me so bloody *hot*, love..." 

"*Please*. *Take*." 

"You're going to answer a few more questions first," Porthos says, and strokes down to Aramis's hip with his free hand — 

Pulls him closer until they're *pressed* together — 

Aramis moans low — 

Shivers — 

"Please. Please ask your questions, my Porthos. My cock aches and I am *eager*." 

"But are you eager to *serve*." 

Aramis blushes — 

Blushes more deeply — 

"I will do what you —" 

"Not what I *asked*, love." 

Aramis shivers — 

Firms his lips together — 

*Stops* that and *pants*. "My Porthos. My *Porthos*. I... do not know what I want, and this shames me. Please do not make me —" 

"Don't grind your *face* into that shame — I hear you. I *won't* do that, love. One more *very* important question —" 

"Please —" 

"Just this: Will you be all right with me *changing* what we do if we find that it doesn't work for you? Do you understand that I'll only change what we do to *other things that also please me*?" 

Aramis blinks — "I..." 

"That's right, love. You're not going to have to *endure* anything. We're going to *enjoy* making love with each other." 

Aramis licks his lips. "You... are determined to own me forever." 

And there's only one thing to say to that: "Yeah. I am." 

Aramis inhales sharply again — and smiles. "Good. This is... very good." 

Porthos grins. "I *rather* think so, too, love. Now, then: here's something we forgot." 

"What?" 

"*I* didn't bring any pomade with me this morning, and I doubt you brought any oil or whatever with you from that other sphere —" 

Aramis hums — 

*Twists* out of Porthos's grip — 

"What —" 

And then Aramis leans over and damned well pulls a pot of oil — Porthos can smell it, now — out of the bedside table. He kneels up again and holds it next to his face with a wry twist to his mouth. 

Porthos coughs. "You *did* bring oil with you?" 

"I did *not*, my Porthos. This pot was simply here, in the drawer, *waiting* for me when I arrived —" 

Porthos *splutters* — 

"We can only assume what is waiting in *your* suite —" 

"Oh my *God* —" 

And Aramis is grinning *meanly* as he drags one finger around and around the pot's stopper. 

"You dirty bastard," Porthos says, and *yanks* Aramis close again — 

"*Oh* —" 

"Spread those legs over mine." 

"Yes, my Porthos —" 

"Yeah, that's right. *Grip* my thighs — mm. You're so strong. You're so perfect." 

Aramis pants. "Will you open me?" 

"Yeah, I will, love. Face to face. Nice and tight and close."

Aramis licks his lips and reaches down to stroke Porthos's hand. "May I..." 

"Mm? Ask." 

"I would like to slick my Porthos's long, powerful fingers," Aramis says, and blushes again. 

Porthos growls, cock thickening *fast* — "Then I think you should, love," he says, raises his right hand. 

Aramis pants. "Thank you, my Porthos," he says, and oils Porthos's fingers lovingly and *well*. 

Strokes them like they're a *cock* — 

Pets and caresses — 

"Oh, love... are you ready?" 

Aramis looks up into Porthos's eyes... and shivers. "I am ready." 

"Then wrap your arms round my neck — there you are. Hold on *tight*." 

"My Porthos... wants to feel my strength?" 

"Everything you've done to make yourself harder. Everything you've done to make yourself *better*," Porthos says, and reaches down to *spread* Aramis's arse with his dry hand — 

Aramis makes a guttural noise and ducks his head — 

And Porthos *presses* his fingers to Aramis's hot hole. Just presses. 

"Please. Please." 

"Do you need your head down, love...?" 

"I. My Porthos would like to see my face for this," he says, and it *isn't* a question, but it *is* thoughtful. 

"Everything about you, love. *Everything*." 

"I... am beginning to wonder why I need this lesson repeated so many times with *you*," Aramis says, and lifts his head — 

Porthos licks his mouth. "Because other people weren't worth you." 

"Oh —" 

Porthos pushes in with *one* finger — 

"Oh, my Porthos..." 

It goes in easily, slick and right and so — 

Porthos starts to fuck Aramis with it right away, watching his eyes, his flushing cheeks, his parted lips — 

Beautiful *mouth* — 

"My. My Porthos looks very hungry..." 

Porthos flexes his cock. "Feels that way, too, I'd wager." 

Aramis laughs — 

Clenches and gasps — 

"Please. Please, give me more —" 

"Because you don't want to wait? Or because you don't want to make *me* wait?" 

"Nnh — *both*. Please, both, I want your *cock*, my Porthos —" 

"And if I want to finger you wide open for me...?" 

Aramis's eyes widen — 

He *stares* — 

"My Porthos..." 

"Mm. You've never had that. You've never had someone... take their time." 

"No, my Porthos. I — I do not know..." 

"If you'd like it. I understand," Porthos says, and crooks his finger — 

"*Ahn* —" 

Porthos rubs and rubs, slow and *hard* — 

"Please!" 

"I'd like to teach you to like it, love..." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

His cock jerks *hard* against Porthos's own — 

Porthos nods. "You like to be taught," he says, and keeps rubbing. 

"Yes — yes —" 

"You like to be *trained*," he says, and presses *firmly* — 

"*Please*!" 

"I'll train you, love." 

"It — it — you want this thing?" 

"I've *always* wanted it from a lover. Always — mm. It's a *dream*," Porthos says, pulling out slow — 

"*Please*!" 

"Shh," Porthos says, and pushes in with two. Slow and steady and easy. 

"Oh — *mm*!" 

Porthos laughs. "No, that was a terrible idea. *Definitely* make all the noise that comes to *mind* when I'm doing *this* to you, love," he says, crooking his fingers up a *little* and rubbing — 

"*Ahn* —" 

And rubbing *hard* — 

"*Please*!" 

"Make all the noise all the bloody *time*." And Porthos licks Aramis all over his face — 

"Yes — oh, yes —" 

Porthos *fucks* Aramis with his two fingers — 

"Hnh —" 

"You like that, love? Mm?" 

"Yes —" 

"You like feeling me opening you up?" 

"Please, my Porthos, I want to *ride* your fingers —" 

"But it's not your *responsibility* to set the pace, love." 

"Please — *please* —" 

"You need to be taught what it means to belong to me —" 

Aramis *bucks* — 

"Your body needs to be *trained*." 

"My Porthos, I — I do not know if I can stay *still*!" 

"*I* do. If you *don't* stay still, I'll *stop*." 

Aramis goes *rigid* — 

"Now breathe," Porthos says, and licks Aramis's chin. 

Aramis's eyes are wider than he's ever seen them, and he nods *vehemently* before taking a deep, *shaky* breath. 

"That's it, love. Keep that up," Porthos says, and licks him again — and doesn't stop fucking him with his fingers. 

"I — I — it is so *hard*, my Porthos —" 

"But you can do it for me. I know you can." 

Aramis *groans* — 

Clenches as his cock jerks over and *over* again — 

"I will do it!" 

"Shh. Breathe. Breathe." 

Another *vehement* nod, and Aramis breathes — 

*Gulps* a breath when Porthos pushes just a little deeper — 

Shudders and clutches Porthos's *shoulders* — 

Porthos just keeps fucking him. *Opening* him good and slow and *hard*. 

Aramis throws his *head* back and gulps another breath — 

"You can do better than that, love..." 

"Yes! Yes! I will!" And then Aramis clenches *violently* hard and *yells* before pressing his forehead to Porthos's own — and breathing. 

Breathing deeply — 

Breathing *frighteningly* evenly — 

"Oh, there's my killer. Mm. There's my *perfect* love... you get a treat," Porthos says, and fucks him faster, just — faster. 

Not harder. 

Aramis *pants* — 

Whines — 

Porthos's cock jerks and adds to the slick mess between them — 

"My. My. *Please* —" 

"You take this so right, love. You were made for it..." 

"My Porthos, I — *fuck*." 

Porthos laughs hungrily and *crooks* — 

Aramis shouts and bucks — 

Clenches — 

Porthos *growls* — 

Aramis *stills* himself — 

Porthos growls *helplessly* as his cock jerks and jerks — 

He's *licking* Aramis again, *working* his pleasure-button, making him *shake* — 

"My Porthos, I am so hungry!" 

"You deserve a lover who doesn't run you *over*." 

"I — I deserve *you*. *Please*. Train me hard. Train me *viciously*. I am *yours*!" 

Porthos growls and darts in, biting Aramis's throat *hard* — 

"AHN — I apologize! I will not — I will *not* —" 

Porthos pulls back with an internal *wrench* — "You have *nothing* to apologize for!" 

"I — no?" 

"*No*. You're — fuck. You're not like *anyone* else. You need... you need things your *own* way," Porthos says, and *twists* his fingers — 

Crooks *viciously* — 

Aramis *yells* — "Please yes! Please yes!" 

"I need you just like *this*," Porthos says, and fucks Aramis hard, *hard* — 

"Oh, yes — oh, my Porthos — I can't — I *can't* —" 

"What can't you do, love? Mm? *Tell* me." 

"I can't think! I can't — there has been nothing *like* this! No one — it has not *felt* like this!" 

"That's 'cause you're *mine*." 

"*Yes*! Please, make me yours, make me feel it *always* —" 

Porthos snarls and bites Aramis again, again — 

Bites him so bloody hard and fucks him *harder* with his two fingers — 

And he's opening right up — 

He's opening right up and *taking* it — 

Groaning and muttering in a language Porthos recognizes from the *Rom* people living in the Court of Miracles — 

Clutching Porthos so *tightly* —

Clenching and *quivering*, and fuck, Porthos has to get *in*. 

He pulls out most of the way and comes right back with a third finger — and then stops with a *jolt* when he realizes that this won't be *enough* when his knot finishes growing. That — 

That he'll *have* to stretch Aramis all out of shape and — 

Fuck, fuck, he's growling more, and his teeth feel strange — 

His teeth are *growing* — 

Aramis *gasps* — 

Flexes *open* — 

Porthos pushes *in* with his three fingers and tries not to break the skin of Aramis's throat with his *teeth* — 

He has to get in — 

He has to crawl right *inside* Aramis — 

He has to make Aramis *all* his, Aramis *wants* it, *needs* it — 

Porthos can't stop *growling* as he *bites* — 

As he *fucks* with all three fingers — 

Aramis is grunting over and over again — 

Clawing at Porthos — 

*Shuddering* with the effort of staying still, and fuck, he's so *hard* against Porthos, so hot, so *slick* — 

So *wet* — 

Porthos is fucking up against him helplessly just that *fast* — 

Aramis *gasps* again, neck flexing between Porthos's teeth — 

So tempting — 

So *beautiful* — 

Porthos has to pull *back* — 

Aramis makes a *mournful* noise — 

"I. Was about to break the *skin*," Porthos says, and he's chewing the words, slurring them — 

Aramis *groans* — 

Pushes his long, deft fingers into Porthos's hair and tugs — 

Tries to — 

"*Aramis* — we'll be linked —" 

"I am *yours*!" 

And it shoves everything out of his mind, shoves everything but *Aramis* out of his mind. His scents, his need, his hunger, his musk, his *pleasure* — 

His need for *him*. 

Porthos is already lapping hungrily at his throat, his shoulder —

Already growling and biting and biting *deep* — 

Aramis yells and *bucks* — 

They're thrusting *together* as Porthos sucks and laps at the sweet-metal-POWERFUL-delicious blood, as he takes it in, as he — 

As he binds them. He can feel it — 

He can feel every *thread* of it, every — 

Every *cord* of it, everything that makes them who they *are* twining and braiding and *locking* together — and locking together with Athos and Treville. 

Porthos can *feel* that Aramis will need *more* to connect with Jason — 

"What — I — I do not — I!" 

Porthos laps and laps at the wound to finish healing it — 

His teeth aren't behaving any better — 

He can't stop *fucking* Aramis — 

"Do *not* stop! Please!" 

Porthos growls and bites him *again*, high on his throat — 

"Oh, please!" 

I *love* you!

(Oh... my Porthos...) 

Oh, fuck, you feel so *thrilled*. 

(I should not?) 

Porthos crooks his fingers — 

"Ai! I love *you*! But tell me — tell me — *NNH* —" 

Porthos should maybe *stop* crooking his fingers like this for a *moment* — 

"No! You should *not*!" 

Porthos *laughs* into the bite — 

"UNH —" 

What should I tell you, mm...? 

(Why — why am I not connected to *all* of you? I *know* this magery!)

Better than *I* do. I have no bloody idea why we have to connect to Jason separately. Maybe... the curses?

(Hm. I suppose he could have learned to lock his magic down far better than most to protect himself from more curses — and protect the world from the curses he already *had* on him.)

Right, that makes *enough* sense for *now*, and also you're bloody brilliant — 

"My *Porthos* —" 

Porthos crooks his fingers again and *rubs* — 

"Unh — unh — nuh — *ohn* —"

That's right, love. Focus on the important things... 

"I — nnh — I must be *trained* —" 

You're *going* to take my cock in just a few moments...

"Please!" 

You're going to *ride* my cock in just a few moments, love...

"Oh, yes, *yes* —" 

Porthos breaks the bite — 

"AHN —" 

Porthos licks the wound *healed* — "You don't know how *delicious* you are..." 

"You tell me this with your every *thought*!" 

Porthos pants. "Do I, then?" 

"You tell me I am delicious, perfect, beautiful, loved! Always loved! You tell me you will keep me, hold me, never let me *go*!" 

Porthos *flushes*. Those are definitely *some* of the thoughts that have been running through his mind about Aramis — 

"The rest are hot, *close* things, my Porthos. You are *possessive*. You wish to *keep* me for yourself. You wish to keep me chained to your *bed*." 

"I..." 

"You wish to keep me chained to your *horse*." 

"Fuck —" 

"You wish your family members to ask your *permission* before they *touch* me —" 

"*Fuck* — I — *Aramis*, I —" 

Aramis covers his mouth and smiles like a madman. "This is very good, my Porthos. This is... what I wish." 

Porthos *grunts* — and growls behind Aramis's fingers — 

Aramis's fingers *shake* — 

Porthos takes them *all* into his mouth and *bites* — gently — 

"Oh, my Porthos..." 

— and then he pulls out of Aramis's arse. 

Aramis gasps and grins. "Do you wish to lie back while your Aramis rides you? Hm? A powerful man like yourself should not work so hard..." 

Porthos shivers and *slurps* his way off Aramis's fingers and reaches back for the linen to wipe his hand. 

Aramis grins wider and pushes gently — so, so gently — at Porthos's shoulders — 

Porthos laughs. "Really." 

Aramis pulls on a sober expression and nods, pushing just that slightest bit harder. 

"What if I need to be close enough to lick you, mm?" 

"I —" 

"What if I need to be close enough to *bite* you." 

Aramis *grunts*, hands spasming — "My Porthos speaks only truth and good sense," he says, and reaches for the pot of oil, instead. 

Porthos rumbles. "Going to oil my cock for me...?" 

"If that is what my Porthos desires —" 

"I desire it, all right. Your strong, hard hands slicking me up for your hot little hole?" Porthos rumbles more. "I don't think you should keep either of us waiting, love." 

Aramis grins again. "*Yes*, my Porthos," he says, slicking his hands and leaning back enough to reach between them, to *gently* cup Porthos's cock with both hands and just *work* it — 

"Oh, *shit*, love —" 

"Your knot is growing larger, my Porthos..." 

"You sound... mm. You sound right eager about that, love." 

"That is because I am," Aramis says, and looks right into his eyes as he *squeezes* Porthos's growing knot — 

Porthos barks — 

Aramis gasps — 

And Porthos growls. "Hands round my neck, love." 

"*Yes*, my Porthos —" 

"Kneel *up* — yeah. Like that. *Just* like that," Porthos says, spreading Aramis's arse and lining himself up — 

*Pressing* against that *hole* — 

"Oh, my Porthos — please, my *Porthos* —" 

Porthos pushes in just a *little* — and stops. And pants. And *looks* at Aramis. 

Aramis is *shaking* — 

Shuddering and *panting* — 

"Please, my Porthos, *please* —" 

"What. Mm. What are you waiting for, love?" 

Aramis's eyes *fly* open wide — 

He grins *wildly* — 

And then he *screws* himself down, *all* the way — 

Down — 

Porthos growls and growls and *grips* Aramis's hips — 

Aramis rises *up* — 

Gasps and grins *triumphantly* at him and *drops* — 

All the way *down* —

He *clenches* — 

Porthos *barks* and *bucks* — 

"*Yes*, my Porthos!" He clenches *again* — 

Porthos bucks and bucks and — 

And Aramis rises — 

It takes everything *in* Porthos not to *yank* him back down — 

His hands are *flexing* on Aramis's hips — 

Aramis clenches *tight* — 

"Fuck — do that on my *knot*." 

Aramis *giggles* and *screws* himself down without opening himself again — 

It feels like Porthos's knot has to be *forced* in — 

(Do you like that? Mm? Forcing your love?) 

"HNH —" 

Aramis giggles more and licks Porthos, *bounces* on his cock, pants and rides him fast, *fast* — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"My Porthos — you are so *thick* —" 

"Love —" 

"You are so hot, your cock is so *fat* —" 

"Love, you're bloody *killing* me —" 

"I need — I *need* —" 

"*Tell* me what you need," Porthos says, and it's more of a growl than anything else, and they're staring into each other's eyes, panting and *groaning*, and Aramis's cock is *jerking* against Porthos's belly — 

Aramis's tongue is peeking like a *dog's* — 

Porthos can't — 

"Head *back*, Aramis!" 

Aramis obeys immediately — 

Porthos *bites* him right over his Adam's apple — 

"UNH — oh — oh — *please*!" 

Keep *riding* me! 

"I will not stop! I will not — please *harder*!" 

Porthos bites *hard* — 

Aramis's breath *whistles* — (YES!) 

Can you get *air*? 

(No! Do not release me, *please*!) 

Porthos growls and *shakes* him by the throat — 

He can't *stop* himself from *doing* it — 

(My — my Porthos! Please do it again!) 

Porthos shakes him again, growls and *bucks* — 

Holds Aramis hips still so he can fuck him harder, *harder* — 

Fuck — 

Fuck, he can't *let* him ride anymore — 

Aramis is grunting and clutching him, *clawing* at him, and he's so hot inside, so *sleek*, so — 

So *welcoming* — 

(I am yours!) 

Porthos growls again and holds Aramis's hips *tighter*, fucks him *harder* — 

(*Yes*!) 

Up and in and up and *in* — in so *deep* — 

He can't stop — 

He can *feel* his knot *swelling* — 

(Yes yes yes — oh, my Porthos, it — can you feel the way it *punishes* my pleasure-button?) 

*Fuck* — 

(Can you feel the way it puts me in my *place*?) 

Porthos snarls and breaks the bite — and immediately bites Aramis's shoulder *deep* — 

(*Yes*!) 

Takes his blood, takes his *power* and shares his *own* — 

Aramis is gasping and clenching — 

*Screaming* — 

Porthos fucks in *hard*, he can't help it, he can't bloody *stop* — 

(Do not stop do not *stop*!) 

He *won't*, but his thrusts are so short, his — 

His knot is *stopping* him, plugging Aramis *tight* — 

Swelling *more* — 

It feels so *huge* — 

(IT IS PERFECT!) And Aramis works to clench *again* — 

And Porthos barks into the bite-wound — 

Barks again and *again* — 

He can't stop *anything* — 

He's holding — 

Holding Aramis so tightly, so *brutally* — 

He can't let him go with his hands or his teeth — 

He'll never bloody let him *go* — 

(My *Porthos*!) And out loud Aramis is howling, *howling* as he clenches *again* and spurts all over Porthos's belly and chest — 

He gets it in Porthos's *beard* — 

The scents are *maddening* — 

The scents are everything —

So — 

Porthos ruts and ruts and snuffles and bites *again* — 

Aramis *screams* — 

Porthos's cock *spasms* — 

(My Porthos, I love you, I love you, I must *keep* you —) 

And Porthos is howling into Aramis's throat, rutting into his arse fast, hard, *fast* — 

He can't — 

He can't bloody *see* — 

(I do not think I could ever leave you...) 

And Porthos *chokes* on a howl and spurts, chokes again because it *hurts*, because it feels like he's shooting through the tiniest possible *pinhole*, only also shooting more than he ever has in his *life* — 

Only it's bloody wonderful. 

He can't *stop* rutting — 

He can't stop *biting* — 

He howls into Aramis's neck *again* — 

*Pumps* spend into his arse again and again and — 

Oh, he feels so bloody *perfect* — 

Nothing has ever been so bloody *perfect* — 

He's still *spending* — 

Aramis moans *appreciatively* and pets him — 

Porthos is swaying on his *knees* — 

And his knot is getting even *bigger*. 

"This is a very *good* thing, my Porthos."

Porthos — eventually — breaks the bite. 

He's laughing when he does it. 

*Hoarsely*. 

"What is amusing?" 

Porthos *kisses* Aramis's throat — he can do that again — 

"Oh — but —" 

"I was just thinking..." And Porthos licks the blood away from the corners of his mouth and grins. He can do *nothing* to convince his hands to detach themselves from Aramis's hips, yet. 

"This is *good*. But what were you thinking?" 

Porthos grins wider and squeezes *harder*. "I was thinking that things could get a mite dangerous if you *objected* to being tied to me for some unknown length of time, love." 

"Tied —" And Aramis blinks rapidly — 

Kneels up *testingly* — 

His eyes widen — and *then* he looks at Porthos. 

Porthos coughs. "I... should I apologize?"

"No!" 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"I..." 

"Yes, love?" 

"It..." Aramis flushes. "It is very dangerous to leave ourselves so *vulnerable*, my Porthos. I am not so vulnerable when I *sleep*!" 

"Right, well, we can *avoid* the knotting in the future —" 

"My Porthos, your spirit is *weeping* for that statement." 

Porthos opens his mouth — 

Closes it — 

Licks his *lips* — 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

"I can... uh... fuck. My spirit may have been weeping, but that doesn't mean we have to do — or *should* do — anything that leaves you feeling *unsafe*, love." 

Aramis inhales — and his gaze softens. 

"I *mean* it —" 

"I believe that you mean everything you say, my Porthos..." 

"I bloody *do* —" 

"I..." And Aramis caresses Porthos's face with both hands. "Perhaps we will always save the knotting for times when we are in houses with other dangerous people who mean us well." 

"*Absolutely*." 

"You will also keep your pistol by the bed." 

"I can do that —" 

"And..." 

"Mm?" 

Aramis obviously considers. "Throwing knives?" 

"I'm more of a fighter than a thrower, love. Sorry about that —" 

"I will teach you; all is well." 

"Right you are —" 

"I... have a lover," Aramis says, and pets Porthos's mouth, slowly and gently and wonderingly. 

"Yeah, love. You do," Porthos says, and licks Aramis's fingers until all the oil is gone and all Porthos can taste is him. 

"My Porthos is thinking about other lovers I can have," Aramis says, and raises an eyebrow.

"Mm, I — mm," Porthos says, and *nibbles* those fingers. "I definitely am, but we've already established that the lot of them will be asking *me* for permission long before they do *anything* with you." 

Aramis glitters at him. "I like this very much..." 

"I thought you would," Porthos says, and nips those fingers again. "Pretty little killer." 

"*Your* pretty little killer."

Porthos closes his eyes and smiles. 

When he concentrates, he can feel Aramis looking through his thoughts for everything he can learn about Porthos. 

It's... restful. 

"Is it?" 

Porthos opens his eyes again. "I know that, if you *do* find something that doesn't sit right with you, you'll *talk* to me about it. And make yourself even more mine in the process." 

Aramis shivers, moves his hand, and licks and licks and *licks* Porthos's mouth just like the prettiest dog in the world. 

The most perfect — 

(Yours.)


	22. Intractable Human Problem is Aramis's middle name.

Treville stares at his son — 

At his *sons*, because Porthos has damned well *seduced* Aramis into the family — 

It. 

"This is why, you know," Jason says, from beside him. 

"Why what?" 

Jason stretches. "Why the idea of going into this with high-minded ideals was so *laughable*." 

"I —" But. There's absolutely nothing Treville can say to that. 

"There truly isn't." 

"Should I be throwing Porthos at *all* of my intractable human problems?" 

"Amant. Most of your intractable human problems are *pillocks*. Porthos would *murder* them." 

Treville licks his lips. 

Slowly. 

Dreamily — 

Jason *snorts*. "Amant, no." 

"I —" 

"*No*." 

"He'd enjoy it just as much —" 

"Almost certainly, and then you'd *both* have a lot of explaining to do when the *hanging* didn't *work*." 

Treville growls and snorts air out of his nose. 

Jason pets behind his ear. 

That's nice. That's very — Treville rumbles. 

"There you are." 

"Mm. Athos is probably first in line to ask permission to fuck Aramis blind." 

Jason sighs. "Yes, and I'm *probably* last." 

"The two of us *could* be all of a piece in their minds." 

Jason nods thoughtfully. "It's true that Porthos's main concern will be Aramis's comfort —" 

"And you *are* his teacher. We now know a fair amount about how much that *matters* to him." 

Jason shows his teeth *covetously*. "Josette is so often a relatively *minor* figure in the lives of Aramises. The fact that he went *back* to her —" 

"The fact that *she* killed the father —" 

"Yes, well. He will protect her memory to his very last breath." 

"And he knew Porthos would, too." 

"Mm. He also would've told Athos tonight, I believe," Jason says, sitting up and reaching for the wine, and pouring for both of them. 

"Only a little for me, please. I'm actually feeling the lack of sleep —" 

"And *admitting* it? Murdering boggarts, man, go to *sleep*." 

"I —" 

Jason glares at him. 

"My *mouth* is dry —"

Jason does a pass over Treville's face. 

"Well, now my mouth is wet and cold and tastes like I'm *possessed*." 

"Only a little. You'll sleep better." 

"I —" Treville yawns hugely. "Bloody hell, Jason, didn't we just —" Treville yawns again — 

Again — 

*Again* —

Jason tucks him in. 

"I'll be *much* more obedient tomorrow. Sleep well." 

Treville gives up and closes his eyes.


	23. School! Now with lessons which don't involve military tactics!

Athos wakes up just before dawn, as usual. He's hungover — as usual — but this time he remembers everything. 

He's... 

Aramis is dead. 

He'd made love with Porthos. 

Aramis is *dead*. 

His Uncle — his *godfather* — is Porthos's *father*. 

His — Treville wants to be their father in every possible way. 

*Every* possible way. 

Aramis is dead. 

Treville — along with his *cursed*, *immortal* *lover* — had brought *another* Aramis — 

An *assassin* — 

From another *sphere* — 

And he is beautiful. 

He is... 

Athos swallows and gets *out* of the firm-but-not-firm-enough bed — 

Moves for the watered wine — and stops. 

And... stops. 

He would like to forget that Aramis is dead. He would like to — but that's not the truth. 

He would like to live on a sphere where he and Porthos were *not* too late to save Aramis — *somehow* — but. 

Right now, Athos's mind is filled with giggles and *peals* of laughter. 

The other Aramis's laughter, and it had been so beautiful, so *young*, so *unfamiliar* — 

So obviously unfamiliar to the man *himself* — 

Their Aramis hadn't laughed that way. Their Aramis — even when his laughter was young and carefree... it was *experienced*. 

He was well-*acquainted* with joy. 

This Aramis is not. 

This Aramis laughs for things their own Aramis would've found *horrifying*, and — 

And Athos stops, again, because he realizes that what he's doing is trying to build a sphere where he can have both of them, where he can sit at a table in the darkest corner of an inn with both of them and Porthos — 

And Porthos can make the Aramis they'd lost laugh as easily as he ever did... and Athos can make *this* Aramis laugh. 

He can... 

They can do it *together* — 

They would *all* be together — 

Athos grits his teeth and covers his face. 

And breathes. 

And — 

Treville knocks on his door. His knock is, as ever, unmistakable — 

And Athos only questions the timing until he remembers that they're all *linked*. 

(That's right, son. Let me in.) 

I... hm. I'm in rather a state of disarray...

(Jason had to possess me to put me to sleep last night —) 

I. 

(I'm in a state of atavistic horror —) 

You...

(— though I'm very well-rested. Open up.) 

As you say, sir, Athos says, and obeys. 

Treville is dressed and obviously ready for another day at the garrison — or the palaces. There is nothing whatsoever out of place on him, and it makes Athos feel grubby and small and young and *unworthy*. 

"Son." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

Treville raises both of his own — and Athos notices that there's a certain *wildness* in Treville's eyes that...

Hm.

"Yes, the dog is hacked-off about the possession. Jason has some apologizing to do. But son —" 

"I'm. I'm aware that I'm being somewhat irrational, sir." 

Treville cocks his head to the side. "Are you?"

Athos flushes, and wishes — not for the first time — for a beard as lush and *sprawling* as Uncle Kitos's, if only to disguise at least a *few* of his — 

"Oh, son. Kitos couldn't hide *anything* from the people he loved." 

"I. You don't think that was a factor of his personality?" 

Treville smiles warmly and nostalgically — 

_And abruptly they're looking at a *very* young — but still lushly-bearded — Kitos and an equally young Treville in a boys' brothel. Their eyes are wide and they're frankly *gaping* at all the boys lounging around the parlor blowing kisses and giggling and *pointing* —_

_And it is *deeply* obvious that both of them are blushing, even though Kitos's beard hides everything._

_It's..._

_It's in the way he's moving, and in the way he's *not* moving, and in the way that, after a *long* moment, he claps Treville on the back and says: "Well, Fearless, time to make those sticky dreams come true!"_

_"Oh fuck."_

_And then a woman who can only be the Madame joins them, and she is tall and strongly-built and *obviously* amused —_

_Kitos and Treville come to *attention* —_

_And the Madame smiles at them *deeply* predatorily._

The memory fades slowly and gently — and Treville is laughing softly. 

"Oh — I. Was that your... first time? At a boys' brothel?" 

"It absolutely was, son. But it wasn't *Kitos's* first time, which is why that Madame wasn't able to fleece us like sheep." 

Athos blinks. "He... I wasn't aware that he *went* with young men that often, sir." 

"He didn't. It really was an only-when-very-drunk thing for him. *But*... this was *right* after he'd beat some sense into me about trying to pretend not to be a buggerer — about forty-five minutes after, actually — and he'd spent the weeks before that conversation checking the lay of the land. Making *sure* he'd have good places to take me, once I saw sense." 

Athos smiles helplessly. "He knew you would." 

Treville leans against the wall. "He knew me, son. He knew me... from top to bottom." And Treville smiles with pain. "I'd had blood family, of course, but..." Treville shakes his head. 

"He was your first *true* brother." 

"That's right." And Treville looks hard into Athos's eyes. "I need you not to fall into a bottle, son." 

Athos flushes — but raises an eyebrow. "You were encouraging me — all of us — to drink heavily just last night." 

"And it won't be the last time I do that." 

"Then..." And Athos raises his eyebrow higher. 

"I need you to cleave to *us* *before* you cleave to the bottle. That's all." 

Athos — takes a breath. "Sir..." 

"You know how. You *want* to." 

"I — of course I do —" 

"The option is available *to* you, son." 

"Did you plan to keep us all living here indefinitely?" 

"I *plan* to petition Louis to let me adopt the three of you the next chance I get." 

Athos *grunts*. "Sir — your position — your position at *court* —" 

"Can sod itself. It was never a *fraction* as important to me as my family — and now that my family is my *pack* again..." And Treville raises his eyebrows once more. 

"Your..." Athos frowns. "I understand that you need to have your pack close to you, and that Porthos will need the same, but... how...? How have we changed? I can understand with Porthos —" 

"You've shared blood with me, son. That really is all it takes." 

"And... you intend to share blood with Aramis, if you can convince him to stay," Athos says, and his heart is pounding. 

Treville smiles wryly. "Porthos has already shared blood with Aramis, son. *And* convinced him to stay." 

Athos flushes hard. "He." 

"Neither of them could sleep last night. They both found their way to the study... and Aramis *immediately* did his best to seduce. Porthos convinced him that he didn't *have* to... and one thing led to another, and another after that, and another after *that*."

"Oh." Athos is blushing very — 

He can't stop *imagining* —

He used to imagine Porthos with the Aramis they'd lost all the *time* — 

"And not yourself, son...?" 

Athos — doesn't flinch. 

Treville nods and moves off the wall, cupping Athos's bare shoulders. "It was easier, I think." 

"Easier, sir?" 

"Easier for you to imagine your brothers being happy and finding love together than it would've been for you to imagine yourself having the same things." 

"Ah. Yes." 

Treville *grips* his shoulders. "You have options now." 

"Sir —" 

"You have. Options." 

"Are you suggesting that I crawl into their *bed*?" 

"In a word? Yes." 

Athos *yanks* himself back — 

"Son, don't —" 

"Sir. That is — that's not —"

"*Son*. You're in love with Porthos, and you're *well* on your way to falling in love with this Aramis —" 

"And they have each *other*!" 

"Athos... did you think they wouldn't want you anymore?" 

And that.

Porthos has never been *faithless* — 

Porthos *could* never be faithless — 

"That's *right* —" 

But — 

"No *buts* —" 

"Aramis doesn't *want* — it wasn't *me* he sought out —" 

"Son. When Aramis left his rooms last night, he wasn't seeking out *anyone* in particular," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And Athos — flushes again. 

*Blushes* — 

Steps — away — "You shouldn't — you *shouldn't* —" 

"He's fully aware that he's being watched at all times, son." 

"You *shouldn't* —" 

"He's fully aware that his *conversations* —" 

"*Sir* —" 

"Athos. He confessed to Porthos, this morning, that he would have attempted to seduce any one of us last night — and *not* because he was feeling in need of distraction."

Athos blinks rapidly — 

Tries to... 

He can't — 

"I know. It's almost impossible for you to imagine." 

"I — how did — could *Porthos* imagine it?" 

"Yes." 

"And... obviously you can, as well," Athos says, and frowns. 

"Yes," Treville says again, and closes the distance between them before cupping Athos's face with one hand. "Here's a thought exercise for you." 

"I — yes?" 

"Your father is alone in his study at your manor. He's restless. Lonely. Aching. In *need* —" 

"Oh — no —" 

"His *skin* aches because he so badly needs to be *touched* —" 

"I — he must — he must seek out Mother, or you, or Uncle Kitos or Uncle Reynard — or. Or, I suppose, Porthos's mother." 

Treville raises his eyebrows at Athos. 

Athos grunts — 

Blinks — no. 

"The point you're trying to make is clear, sir —" 

"Is it? Because I think you're about to say something about it being impossible for Aramis to start falling in love with *us* as quickly as you and Porthos — and I, and Jason — have started to fall in love with *him*." 

"Of course — of course it makes perfect sense for him to develop feelings for —" 

"Everyone but you, son...?" And Treville's voice is dangerously quiet.

It — Athos stops. And licks his lips. And. 

Thinks. 

Thinks about *everything* that has pushed him to drink — 

Pushed him to... 

To need to *forget* — 

"Oh, son..." 

Athos looks at Treville's boots — no. 

No. 

He looks *up* — 

"That's right, son," Treville says, and caresses Athos's cheek. 

"Sir... I have felt... stained." 

"I know that now. You never were." 

"I." 

"You never. Were." 

Athos takes a shuddering breath — 

Another — 

"I don't..." 

Treville growls and pulls Athos into a hug, tight and close. It's somewhat uncomfortable with Treville fully-dressed and Athos only in his breeches — 

That. 

That isn't why it's uncomfortable. 

"Tell me why, son." 

"Sir..." 

"Tell me," Treville says, and his voice is firm and — not hard. Not cruel. Never — 

His voice is warm, and full, and — 

"Oh, son..." 

"Sir, I've wondered how you and Porthos could stand to *touch* me," Athos says, and he's losing control of *his* voice — 

And 'Anne' is covered in Thomas's *blood* — 

Thomas's eyes are staring — 

*Empty* — 

Treville growls and holds him *tighter*, sniffs Athos's throat and licks him — 

"Oh —" 

Licks him over and over again — 

"Sir — sir, I —" 

"My *son*. It has always been a *privilege* to hold you in my *arms*." 

"I *failed* you!" 

"You did *not* —" 

"I let Thomas be murdered, I — I was too *late* with Aramis —" 

"All right. Let's view the world that way," Treville says, and pushes Athos *back* — 

Athos grunts — "Please — I mean — no, you must do what you *will* —" 

"Shh. Porthos failed me with Aramis, too." 

"What? No —" 

"For that matter, Porthos failed to save any number of the friends and loved ones who helped him *survive* when he was growing up in the Court of Miracles. Didn't he?" 

"No — *no*!" 

"I failed to save your Uncle Kitos — I was too *slow*." 

"*Sir* —" 

"An ague got your Uncle Reynard... but couldn't I have tried harder to convince him to be bound to me? To take my vitality?" 

"You can't — you *can't*! It's *impossible* to make choices for other people! And — and sometimes — Porthos didn't fail! You didn't *fail*! You mustn't — please don't —" 

"Please don't *what*." And Treville's eyes are gleaming *hotly*. 

Athos pants — 

Pants more and *stares* — 

His heart is *pounding* — 

And Treville nods and cups Athos's face again, and his shoulder with his other hand. "Something Porthos said to Aramis last night has come to mind. They were talking about the Aramis we've lost, and whether or not he held himself in contempt for his desires. His desires for *both* you and Porthos —" 

"I — no. *Please*, no —" 

"Easy. Porthos was fairly certain that he didn't. That his religion — his dearly-*held* religion — wouldn't *let* him do that." 

Athos takes a *breath* — 

"But. He also remembers a man who held himself to exacting standards, Athos. A man who would not stint at holding himself to higher — or 'higher' — standards than the ones he held the *rest* of the world to." And Treville raises his eyebrows. "You've always had that in common." 

Athos squeezes his eyes shut — no. He opens them again. "I don't feel as though I deserve the pleasure and happiness and comfort that my brother denied himself, sir." 

"Well, that's bald enough," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. "One: You're not the best judge of what you deserve, and you will *not* be the best judge until such time as you're no longer grieving —" 

"But —" 

"That's *why* we must surround ourselves with loved ones when we're grieving. We all pick up each other's *burdens*, son." 

Athos inhales — and nods. "Please, I — what else?" 

"Two: Aramis died without your comfort. Without your love. Without your *touch* —" 

Athos hears himself make a *broken* sound — 

"I know. I *apologize* for that. But listen to me, son: It's entirely *probable* that *one* of the reasons he went without those things was because *he* didn't feel he'd earned it. From you *or* Porthos. We already know he felt he hadn't earned it from *me*." 

Athos *grunts* — and blinks. 

"I know you heard that." 

"Yes — yes, sir. More. Please." 

"Three: You're in danger of making the same *mistakes* he made, son. Of *languishing* in the same *errors*... until it's too late. We've all gotten a little smarter than we were before — in the hardest possible way — but this kind of thing takes an effort from *all* parties. None of us can sit back and fall into our own brooding anymore, son. None of us can throw ourselves into pointless distractions instead of going to our loved ones — our *pack* — with everything hollowing our hearts and letting them *warm* and *fill* us again. We just can't afford the alternative." 

Athos licks his lips again — and nods. "Yes, sir." 

"Yes?" 

"I." And Athos swallows and pushes into Treville's arms again. Just — 

"Oh, son..." 

Athos had hardly ever done this as an adolescent — 

He's *never* done it as an adult — 

He's always *forced* Treville to initiate touch — 

Treville rumbles into his ear — and licks. 

"Oh —" 

"You shouldn't think it was a hardship..." 

Athos coughs — 

And Treville laughs and hugs him tighter. "You've needed more than you've taken for yourself." 

He doesn't want to say that. 

He doesn't — it's *grasping* — 

It's not — 

"Son..."

It's true. "I've needed more than I've taken for myself." 

Treville rumbles and cups the back of Athos's neck — 

Strokes Athos's back with his other hand — 

"I'll give you everything, son." 

"And." 

"Mm?" 

Athos pulls back only just far enough that he can meet Treville's gaze. "Will you *take* everything that *you* require from us?" 

Treville takes a short, sharp breath — 

His eyes *heat* —

And he tightens his grip on the back of Athos's neck. 

Athos's heart is pounding again, just that quickly. It — 

"I may need help with that, son." 

"Yes," Athos says, except that he hasn't the faintest clue what Treville had just said, or what it had referred to. 

Treville coughs a *laugh* — 

"Sir —" 

"*Son*. I'd very much *like* to seduce you —" 

"But?" 

"But that was the case ten years ago. I've gotten into the habit of tamping myself down around you —" 

"As you said, sir, we must... throw aside habits like that —" 

"Not if they *protect* our loves from *harm*, son." 

Athos frowns. "You would never harm me." 

Treville licks *his* lips — and then shakes himself. 

"Sir?" 

"There's more than one way to harm a young man who is grieving, confused, and struggling to crawl out of the bottle."

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Are you aware that you've begun *daring* me, sir?" 

Treville *chokes* again — "*Athos* —" 

Athos — grins. It feels very good. 

"Oh, son. Oh, son, let me *care* for you..." 

"I need... much." 

Treville rumbles and moves both hands to Athos's shoulders. "*Tell* me what you need. *Please*." 

"For you to stop touching me like the Captain." 

Treville *grunts* — 

"For you to stop touching me like — but. You were my Uncle in your fantasies of me. Weren't you?"

"*Yes* And — more than that —" 

"My father..." 

"Yes, but — we need not think about the two of those things braided together —" 

"I don't think that's true, sir. Not with you." 

Treville blushes like a boy — and smiles wryly. "You're absolutely right, and I apologize for trying to steer you astray." 

"You were... trying to protect me?" 

"And, perhaps, your good opinion of me." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "'Perhaps'?" 

"That's ultimately less important." 

Athos takes a breath — and nods. "That makes clear, objective sense." 

Another wry smile. "My boy." 

"Did you want a boy from me?" 

"Not since you've been one, son. Hm. I... wait one moment," Treville says, and — 

(Yes, amant?)

(As it happens, I *will* be delayed this morning, lover —) 

(I'm *shocked*. Good morning, Athos. Do make your father heal your hangover before you do anything *frisky*.) 

Treville snorts — 

Athos *stares* — no. 

No. 

Good morning to you, too, Jason. I will absolutely take your advice. 

(*Excellent*. In the meantime, I'll have Alaire send a rider to the garrison with the news of the regrettable delay.) 

(Thank you *very* much, lover. I'll consider it part of the apology you owe me for last night.) 

Jason hums in their minds. (Is the dog...?) 

(You're going to have to make a long, heartfelt —) 

(Sloppy?) 

(*Sloppy* apology to him —) 

(On my hands and knees?) 

(On your hands and *knees*. He *hates* sharing his soul-space with other beings. And you know *exactly* how that feels.) 

(Oh, dear, yes. Hm. I'll get him a nice present while I'm at it.) 

(You do that. Mm. I love you.) 

(And I you, amant. Always.) 

Treville grins almost rapaciously. (*Always*, lover. You're *mine*.) 

And Athos can feel Jason... shiver. (Oh, yes, amant. Yours *forever*.) 

The connection among them dims until Athos is only aware of Jason as much as he's aware of the rest of the pack — 

And then Treville smiles at him with a warm and somehow *filthy* curiosity. 

"Sir...?" 

"Just one moment, son. It's time to heal you." 

"Oh —" 

"Yes, you remember this well enough, I think... though you didn't need it very often, at all." 

"It seemed as though I needed you to heal me all the *time*, sir —" 

The look on Treville's face turns measuring. Dissecting. 

"Sir?" 

"Is that — one of the reasons why you didn't want me to even *reduce* the scarring on your mouth, son?" 

Athos blushes. "I... yes." 

"I thought so," Treville says, and smiles fondly. "We'll just avoid so much as easing it *again*, shall we?" 

"Yes. Please." 

Treville nods — and then warmth and health and *life* fill him, so much — 

For long moments it feels as though Athos could reach out and speak with every living thing in the *world*, every insect and bird and blade of grass — and then the feeling fades, and Athos is left with only absolute health. 

It feels as though he's been on campaign for months, as though he hasn't taken a drink of anything stronger than watered *wine* in months, as though he's been riding and *fighting* through the countryside — 

"The fact that that's the *first* thought to come to your mind after a healing..." 

Athos stops wondering at himself and focuses on Treville. "Sir...?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I tried to tell Laurent... so many times. I tried to *explain* to him how very much you were born for this life." 

"Oh. He... didn't believe you?" 

"He didn't want to limit you, son. Not ever. And who could argue with that?" 

"You?"

Treville laughs, low and ribald as he strokes Athos's cheek. "Tell me something, son." 

"Of course." 

"What do you *want* from me... when you're dreaming *of* me." 

Oh... Athos stands straighter. "Discipline. Punishment. *Force*. I..." Athos blushes. "There are... specifics, of course..." 

"Mm. There nearly always are," Treville says, and cups the back of Athos's neck again, leading them gently toward the rumpled bed. 

"Oh — I should straighten —" 

"Shh. We have other concerns right now." And Treville urges Athos to sit on the edge of the bed... and then starts to remove his belts. 

"Oh..." 

"Tell me about the specifics, son." 

Athos can't look away from Treville's *hands* — 

"Look. *Up*." 

Athos grunts and *obeys* — 

"Good boy. Now. Tell me about the *specifics*." 

"You. You hurt me, sir." 

"Do I, now," Treville says, and sets his belts on one of the chairs. 

He takes the rapier to the other side of the room entirely — 

"Better safe than sorry," he says, and then comes back to stand in front of Athos with one thumb hooked in the waistband of his trousers. "How do I hurt you. *Where* do I hurt you." 

"I was aware that you sometimes used whips of various sorts with your first pack, sir. I... have wanted that." 

Treville growls — but it's short and sharp. "For how long." 

"Please... don't ask that question." 

Treville *inhales* — "That's answer enough." 

"Yes, sir —" 

"Did you want your arse whipped? Your back? Your legs?" 

"Everything." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "Your *chest*, son? Your cock and *bollocks*?" 

"Everything." 

Treville flares his nostrils — 

*Adjusts* himself in his trousers with his free hand — 

"Do I ever use my *hands*." 

"Sir..." 

Treville strokes Athos's mouth with the hand he'd just adjusted himself with. He. 

Athos's heart is pounding again — 

"Tell me what you need, son. Tell me... all about it," he says, and his voice is low. *Rough*. 

"I. I would like to know if I'm. Arousing you." 

"Of course you are, son. I'm doing *terrible* things to these breeches." 

"Oh —" 

"But I'll be more clear about that. A man gets into certain habits when he spends years with a lover who can smell his every mood-shift, son," Treville says, and goes back to stroking Athos's mouth. 

"I. I will try to be more astute —" 

"You will ask your *questions*. *All* of your questions. And you'll get to know the lover in me — as opposed to all the other things." 

Athos inhales — "Yes, sir." 

"Good boy. Now tell me if I ever use my hands on you." 

"Yes. Please, I. I've often." Athos blushes hard. 

"'Often'...?" 

"I've... reminisced about the feel of your hands on my bare skin. How rough they were. How... powerful." 

Treville rumbles *extensively* — and drags his calluses over Athos's lips. 

"Please —" 

"I smell you getting hotter, son. Are you also getting harder? You often smelled *much* hotter than this when we were training together when you were a boy... and didn't get hard, at all."

"Oh. I..." Athos blinks. "Yes, I'm quite erect already. But... when I was young... was that... strange?" 

Treville smiles wryly and gently. "A little." 

"Or... more than a little?" 

"Or a lot more, yes. *But*, when I talked about it with your parents, your father told me that he had been just the same." 

"Yes, I — Thomas had asked me what to *do* about his random and apparent near-crippling erections, and I reiterated the advice we had both been given —" 

"But he was truly asking you to share with him...?" 

Athos smiles and ducks his head — no. He looks up again. "He wanted... he wanted to know what *I* did. He wanted to know how I felt about it all, and what I thought, and what I dreamed..." Athos licks his lips. "I had so little to *give* him. I wound up making us *both* feel hopelessly strange, and we rather ran to Father in *distress*." 

"Oh — fuck — son —" 

"He reassured us that both of us were healthy *enough*, and that I would... grow into myself, with time." 

Treville gives Athos a shrewd look. "Did you believe him?" 

"Yes and no. Yes, because I didn't doubt that he'd gone through the precise same things I was going through — his descriptions were spot-on — and no, because I've *always* found myself to be... different." 

"Oh, son," Treville says, and strokes his hair. "Your father felt the same *that* way, too." 

Athos blinks. "Yes?" 

Treville nods — 

_And Athos is looking at his parents and Treville in the master suite at their manor. Mother and Treville are naked together on the bed — *locked* together on their sides, because he appears to be *inside* her —_

_Her curls are unpinned and spilling everywhere —_

_Her back is to Treville's front —_

_And Father is... pacing._

_It's a slow pace, and it's *close* to the bed, but he's not actually drinking the wine in his hand, and he's frowning, and *he's* still wearing loosened breeches._

_He's hard —_

_"*Husband*."_

_"My apologies, wife —"_

_"Come to *bed*."_

_"I — I will —"_

_"Brother, what's got you all twisted up?"_

_Father frowns *harder* —_

_Paces *more* —_

_*Fiddles* with the wine glass —_

_"Husband, I'm going to be very cross if you make me *regret* letting Treville knot me tonight."_

_Father blanches. "I'm worried about our children. I — I'm worried."_

_Mother blinks._

_*Treville* blinks. "Have we *missed* something, brother?"_

_"*No*, I — no. I look at them, and I see them growing, and I see them growing into such wonderful, brilliant, loving, *wise* young men —"_

_"They're bloody perfect —"_

_"*Yes*," Father says, setting the glass down and coming to sit on the edge of the bed closest to Mother. "They *are*. And — they both have so much of *all* of us. We've *raised* them. We've *given* ourselves to them."_

_"*Yes*, husband. The *best* of ourselves, as we all promised —"_

_"I worry — what of the worst of us?"_

_"What? Husband, we *haven't*."_

_"I must — I can't —" Laurent growls and bangs his fist on the bed, baring his teeth. "I've spent so *much* of my life *utterly* convinced that I was a hopeless failure of a man, a hopeless *mistake* —"_

_"Laurent —"_

_"*Husband*."_

_"Let me *speak*," Father says, and blazes at both Mother and Treville. His eyes are narrow and wild and *hot* —_

_His body is *tense* —_

_"Let me speak," he says, again, in an impression of calm —_

_And Mother and Treville nod with frowns on their faces._

_"I am not that man anymore. I have been *improved* and *warmed* in the love of this *pack*. But I look at my sons, and I wonder — will they know how to ask the right questions of the right people at the right times? Or will the honesty and bravery we have instilled in them from the start make them so many *enemies* that they grow cynical and turn away from all? Will they grow up feeling like the oddest, most incomplete, most out of *place* pieces of machinery ever to be built? Will they *curse* us for building them the way we have — only to curse themselves for adding *ingratitude* to their list of failings?_

_"I have been *broken* by my loneliness, wife. And little brother — before you *told* me that you loved me, that the heat I'd seen in your eyes was more than occasional lust for a *curiosity* —"_

_"*Laurent* —"_

_"*Wait* — but." Father growls and slumps and pushes a hand back through his hair. "You know all this. You both do. I only wish... that I could have guarantees. That I could give our children *orders* about giving themselves to others and know that they'll be *followed* when the time comes. And. I know that I cannot do that._

_"And it breaks me."_

_Treville shudders —_

_And Mother reaches out. "Come, husband. Lie with us."_

_Father nods and stands, stripping out of his breeches and then crawling in with them. He kisses Mother and Treville with *desperate* passion —_

_He clutches them *tightly* —_

_"We will teach them, husband. We will teach them with our words and with our *example*."_

_"Yes — yes..."_

_"They'll know, brother."_

_"And we will be there for them."_

_"Please. *Please*."_

The memory fades slowly — 

And Athos comes back to himself to the feel of Treville stroking through his hair. "Oh... sir..." 

"Is this all right, son?" 

"Yes — yes." 

"Mm. Ask questions." 

"I..." But he does have questions. "Father... thought *he* was broken. And... a failure." 

"Because he didn't understand what came so easily to other people when it came to the social dance, sex, sexuality... all of that. It was beyond him, and I honestly believe he *first* fell in love with me because of my willingness to answer all of his questions repeatedly, in depth, and at length." 

"You *believe* he did?" 

"He didn't know, son. He became *aware* that he was in love with me — that he had *been* in love with me — a few years into our acquaintance, and spent some time trying and failing to figure out when it had happened." 

Athos blushes. "That... sounds deeply familiar." 

Treville smiles and keeps stroking Athos's hair. "I thought it might."

"I don't... it seemed perfectly natural to fantasize about you when I was an adolescent, sir." 

"Did it?" 

"I would... *try* to have fantasies about the people I was introduced to, about the young women I knew I was being introduced to as potential marriage-matches..." 

"It didn't work." 

"No, sir." 

"You needed... hm. Let me see if I can help with this," Treville says, and tugs on the hair at the back of Athos's head until Athos *must* look up into his eyes. 

"Sir?" 

"There wasn't enough time to get to know them. Not at the parties and picnics and... et cetera." 

"Oh. *No*. There *wasn't*." 

"When you tried to *make* time to get to know them, you were chastised — gently — for moving outside the social order." 

"*Yes* — sir —" 

"When you tried to get to know them within the *rules* of the social order, you were informed that you would be, in effect, making the first overtures of a marriage proposal —" 

"I — did you have the same — no. No. My father did." 

"Precisely, son. So, he taught himself to learn as much as possible about a person in as short a *time* as possible —" 

"*Yes* — I —" 

"You're more deft at that than he was." 

Athos blinks. "I... am?" 

Treville smiles. "You're your mother's son, too. *Laurent* believed in the power and beauty and *glory* of interrogation." 

"Oh... dear." 

"Oh, yes. He'd developed quite the reputation by the time he was your age, and, really, the only people interested in marrying him were people interested in his lands and titles. *Except* for your mother. Whereas you... still have a few options."

Athos feels his mouth twist. 

"Yes, son, I know you're thinking of what happened the last time you tried to get married, but I *promise*... well. Don't close yourself off. Don't lock your *heart* away." 

Athos shivers, but — "I. I would like... to speak about you, sir."

Treville wets his lips. "I suppose I *can* stop distracting us..." 

"I appreciate everything you've told me and shown me, sir — I don't mean to make you think —" 

"Shh. I'm only teasing," Treville says, and winks. And pets Athos's beard with his free hand. 

"Oh..." 

"We were talking about my hands, I believe..." 

"I — yes. Please." 

"We were talking... mm. I'd certainly *like* to use my hands on you, son..." 

"You. Yes?" 

Treville *licks* his lips. "I want to touch you everywhere, son. I want to *grip* you and *bruise* you and *mark* you —" 

"*Please*!" 

Treville hums. "Tell me." 

"What. What? Please —" 

"Tell me what you want me to *do* with my hands." 

"Everything!" 

Treville rumbles — and *stops* stroking him. "Be specific." 

Athos inhales — 

Swallows — 

*Blushes* — "This. It's... surprisingly difficult to speak about," he says, and frowns. 

"More difficult than the whips?" 

"Yes, sir, I apologize —" 

"Shh. It's important that we work through these difficulties, son," Treville says, and starts stroking him again. 

"Oh. Yes. Please. Please — train me." 

"Mm. Happily. Now, tell me what makes it difficult to talk about — think about? — my hands on you. I already have my suspicions, but it's important for you to talk about them." 

"Yes, sir. Yes. I..." Athos licks his lips and swallows again —

Treville still isn't letting him look *down* — 

And he will not try. He will — behave. 

"My good boy," Treville says, and rumbles more. "Talk to me." 

"I... it feels..." Athos licks his lips. "If you're using the whip — any whip — you need not... touch me. You need not *sully* yourself with me." 

"Oh, son..." 

"I — I recognize that the thoughts are. I recognize that I am *supposed* to find the thoughts... wrong." Athos flushes. "I apologize —" 

"Shh. Sometimes we need other people to find thoughts like that wrong *for* us. Until we can join them." 

"We. Yes?" 

Treville nods. "We leave ourselves in the hands of our loves, and that's one of the many reasons why I'm so proud of you, son." 

Athos blinks — 

Tries to imagine — 

"I don't... understand?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "You didn't have nearly enough guidance in how to deal with *your* body and *your* feelings and what they would do to you. That wound up hurting you —" 

"I —" 

"Shh." 

"Yes, sir, but —" 

"But you could've been more prepared for the day when your body, mind, and heart finally agreed about the suitability of a woman. Right?" 

Athos flushes *again* — "I... was not prepared." 

"Precisely. And you wound up hurt more terribly than any man..." Treville growls and shakes his head. "We didn't *think*, son. We didn't *prepare* you. And you were hurt. You were half-*broken*. And yet? You still managed to find *two* people to give your heart to." 

"I..." 

"Two strong, beautiful, kind, loving, wise, open-hearted, open-minded, brilliant... oh, son, you chose so *well*." 

"They — they chose *me* —" 

"You chose them *back*. And you *must* understand how difficult that is to do." 

"For... more than only people like me?" 

Treville smiles at him. "Yes. I promise." 

Athos nods once. "Yes, sir. I will *take* your lessons." 

"You always do," Treville says, and he sounds so — proud. 

So loving and — 

Athos can't help leaning *in* — 

"That's just right, son..." And Treville drags his rough thumb over Athos's lower lip. 

"That. That's one of the things I've dreamed about... extensively." 

"My hands on your mouth, son?" 

"You've always. You look at my scar... differently." 

Treville *barks* a ribald laugh. "You were fencing in front of me when you *got* it, son." 

"Yes —" 

"You were showing *off*." 

Athos blushes — but. "Yes, I was. I —" 

"For *me*," Treville says, with... relish. 

"Sir..." 

"Say it."

Athos grunts — "Sir?" 

"Say. That you were showing off. For *me*."

And Athos understands that this has been a fantasy of *Treville's* — 

That he's *wanted* this from Athos — 

That he's *dreamed* — 

Athos moans and *kisses* Treville's thumb before looking up to meet Treville's eyes steadily. "I was showing off for *you*, sir." 

Treville pants and *presses* his thumb to Athos's mouth for a moment — "More." 

Oh... "I wanted you to see me —"

"*More*." 

"I wanted. I wanted you to be *proud* of me. Of how much I had *achieved*." 

Treville *growls*. "What *else* did you want, son. What..." Treville narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side. "You were seventeen. You were away from home, alone, for the first time." 

"Yes —" 

"What did you *want*." 

"I wanted you to — to bring me back to your *office* — the way you *hadn't* —" 

Treville growls *more* — 

*Grips* Athos's jaw — 

"Did you want me to *touch* you." 

"I. I didn't know. I apologize —" 

"*No*. Don't do that, son. You didn't know. You didn't have anyone to *teach* you — and you didn't know you *wanted* the teaching...?" 

"My... my fantasies about you — you gave me so much *pleasure* as an adolescent, sir! I *should've* known —" 

"Shh. There was... a part of you was still... sleeping." 

"It *shouldn't* have been —" 

"But, son... you only knew me as your Uncle. A part of your *mind* knew that there was more to the *man* in me that you *needed* to know." And Treville raises his eyebrows. 

Athos blinks — 

Blinks *more* — 

"You... have put a great deal of thought into... me."

Treville smiles. "I think about my boys *incessantly*." 

And that is so.... "I am... yours." 

Treville growls again. "That's just right, son. And you're going to prove it. Aren't you." 

"*Yes*, sir!" 

"Then tell me what I do with my *hands*." 

"*Hurt* me. I — you. You *strike* me, and *slap* me. *Backhand* me —" 

"Your face...?" 

"*Please*. And — and my *genitals*. My *arse*." 

Treville growls and growls — "Does that make you *spend* in your dreams, son?" 

"*Yes*, sir — I — I can't often *think* of it —" 

"It seems too much." 

"Yes —" 

"You can't *ask* me for it in your fantasies — I have to *choose* to do it for you." 

"Yes, sir, and I — I —" 

"You can't — quite — imagine it, most of the time." 

"No, sir —" 

"Stand up and take your breeches off." 

"Hnh — yes, sir —" 

But Treville growls and doesn't *release* him — 

Doesn't *move* — 

"I don't want to leave your *scents*, son." 

"Oh. Sir..." 

"Put this thought in your mind, son: I'm going to *vastly* enjoy disciplining you with my hands *every* opportunity you give me." 

Athos hears himself make a *desperate* sound — 

"I'm going to *revel* in having your scents on my hands, son. Your sweat. Your *struggle*." 

"Please, sir!" 

"This does *not* mean that I won't give you the whip when we both need *that* — I *love* the smell of leather on a man's bollocks —" 

"*HNH* —" 

"Mm. *You* smell close to spending...." 

"Please — *please*!" 

Treville growls and tightens his *grip* on Athos with both *hands* — 

"Oh, sir, I'll do *anything*!" 

"We'll have *everything*, son. But first... I'll have your naked *body*," Treville says, releasing him and stepping *back*. 

Athos stands immediately, feeling shaky and *graceless*, but he has a clear task to perform. He *will* get his breeches off at *speed* — 

"That's right, son," Treville says, and he's sitting on one of the chairs, working off his boots and socks — 

The sight *stops* Athos — 

And Treville laughs. "Son." 

"I..." Athos licks his lips. "I only need a moment to remind my fingers how to work..." 

Treville growls low and *hard* — 

"Or that," Athos says, and unlaces his breeches fast, *fast* — 

Pushes them down and steps *out* of them — 

Picks them up to put them in the basket — 

"Toss them to me," Treville says, from the chair. He's sitting in a sprawl, and he hasn't taken anything off *except* for his boots and socks. 

"Oh. Sir...?" 

Treville gestures a come-on — 

Athos obeys — 

And Treville catches them and immediately sniffs and snuffles and growls and *bites* them. 

Athos's cock *jerks* — 

(I *didn't* do this when I was staying with your family at your manor...) 

"I. I imagine... not..." 

Treville laughs *evilly* and *sucks* Athos's breeches —

"I can't help thinking you have something else to say on this topic, sir." 

Treville *barks* a laugh — 

Bites the breeches one more time — and drops them in a messy pile between them before standing up and looking Athos over. 

Athos shivers — 

Treville flares his nostrils. "Step away from the bed just a... there. That's perfect. Now turn for me." 

"Yes, sir —" 

"Slower than that." 

Athos moans and *obeys* — 

"I knew your scents like I knew my own, son..." 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Mm. When you came to the Musketeers for your three seasons of training — when you came to *me*, instead of taking anything resembling a holiday —" 

"It was the only thing I ever wanted! Sir. I apologize —" 

"Shh, shh. I know. And I wanted to give it to you. I wanted to *demand* that Laurent change his plans for you and *let* you enlist properly. But I didn't feel like it was my place." 

"I." 

"I think about that a lot, son. I think about that... oh, long into the wee hours of the night, sometimes. You see, Kitos, Reynard, *Amina* — *they* never would've let up on Laurent *or* me *or* Marie-Angelique. They knew that Thomas was meant for court and you were meant for *us*." 

"Oh. But... you lost them." 

"We did. And we lost their good sense. Stop turning," Treville says, when Athos has his right side facing him. 

"Yes, sir —" 

Treville leans in and sniffs Athos's throat — 

Licks — 

"Your scents haven't changed much... ultimately." 

"No, sir?" 

"Your scents haven't changed much from the days when I would creep into the washroom you used in the barracks and snuffle through the sweat-soaked training clothes until I found *yours* —" 

"Oh. I. Fuck." 

Treville licks him *slowly*. "I rubbed your scents *all* over my hands, son. And then I tossed myself off *brutally* —" 

"NNH —" 

"With one hand in. My. *Mouth*." 

"Yes. Yes, sir. Please, sir. Take my scents. Take everything. Take —" 

"Your blood...?" 

Athos *grunts* — "Please. *Please*." 

Treville shows his — lengthening — teeth. "My good, beautiful boy." 

"Yours — yours, sir —" 

"Mm. I... am a man faced with a feast," Treville says, and walks around in front of Athos, stroking his chest — 

His arms — 

*Gripping* his arms so *tightly* — 

"Yes, sir, *please*, sir —" 

"So you do like this..." 

"Yes — yes. Sometimes you would... haul me places. When you were especially excited." 

Treville rumbles. "My boy," he says, and *claws* down the center of Athos's chest with one hand while *choking* Athos with the other — 

Athos gasps and gets *nothing* — 

And then Treville slaps Athos's cock. He. 

It's so *hot* — 

It's somehow nothing *like* all the times he's slapped his *own* cock — 

It's so hot and hard and — 

The *sting* is the same, but the ache is different, the pleasure is wild, strange — 

So *important* — 

Treville rumbles. "Lovers — true lovers — are always important," he says, and slaps Athos's cock twice more — 

Athos tries and fails to *shout* — 

(I can hear you just fine in here, son...) 

Athos shivers and *bucks* — 

He's leaking and — and *jerking* — 

He's shuddering — 

Sweating and trying to *moan* — 

His cock aches and he wants *more* — 

"My strong boy. My beautiful, strong..." Treville growls and slaps Athos's cock *hard* —

Athos opens his mouth on a scream that Treville isn't allowing to *happen* — 

His knees buckle — 

Treville holds Athos *up* by his grip on his throat while he gains his footing again — 

Athos *clenches* — 

"Is that so..." 

Sir — sir, I'm so *hard* — 

"I know you are. But do you want to be *fucked*." 

Athos bucks and moans silently again — 

He's shaking so *much* — 

There's darkness creeping into the edges of his vision — 

"That's because you're moving *quickly* toward losing consciousness," Treville says, and eases his grip on Athos's throat. "Breathe." 

Athos obeys — 

"*Keep* breathing. I'll stop you when it's appropriate." 

Athos's cock jerks again and *again* — 

He's spattering Treville's *leathers* — 

"I'll smell like you all day, son..." 

Athos groans and wants to be *struck* more, wants — but he has to answer Treville's question — 

"You have to breathe. Keep doing that." 

Athos obeys, doing his best to come to attention — 

"My good, good boy..."

Treville is flaring his nostrils again and again — 

Treville is *enjoying* this — 

Enjoying *him* — 

"*Immensely*, son. And I plan to keep that up," he says, smiling with his sharp teeth.

Athos shivers — and breathes. 

And breathes — 

And feels himself loosen, all over, even as his cock jerks *violently*. 

Treville gives it a *fond* look. "You're also your father's son, of course..." 

Athos blinks. "Sir?" 

"de la Fère cocks enjoy a great deal of *punishment*, it seems." 

"I. Father wished to be *punished*?" 

"Not that way — though he wished to *experiment* with *everything*, of course —" 

"Yes, of course —" 

Treville nods. "All sorts of men enjoy having their tackle smacked around who don't want to be *punished*, per se, son." 

Athos blinks — and nods. "Yes, sir. I do want to be fucked." 

"Experience?" And Treville raises his eyebrows. "Have you used toys?" 

"I... only four times. I couldn't grow accustomed to the temperature. I —" 

"Don't apologize, son," Treville says, and *caresses* Athos's cock — 

"Nnh — please —" 

"Shh. I can't stand the ivory toys for the very same reason you can't. Leather and *wood*, now..." 

"Oh." 

"Exactly. Much harder to keep those clean, but we're used to keeping our *guns* clean. Now, aren't we."

"*Yes*, sir!"

Treville smiles *warmly*. 

It's strange with his teeth so long and sharp, but — 

"You like it anyway, son?" 

"Yes, sir —" 

"Good. It's time for you to take a little more pain." 

"*Please*, sir —" 

"I *won't* be choking you this time — please feel free to make a great deal of noise." 

"Yes — NNGH —" 

And there *isn't* pain, at first. There's *light*, the way there *always* is when Athos takes a sufficiently-hard blow to the head or face — 

There's shock and the pound of his *heart* — 

He had staggered on his *feet* — 

He's blinking the light out of his *vision* and trying to stand straight — 

His cock is jerking *violently* — 

"It certainly is..." 

"Yes, sir —" Oh, that was hopelessly *slurred* — 

"Still no pain?" 

"I — I —" Athos licks his lips — 

Tastes *blood* — 

Opens his mouth to tell Treville that it's still too stunning, too amazing, too *perfect* — and shocks himself with a *helpless* groan for the pain in jaw, his mouth, his *face* — 

He's going to *bruise* — 

He's going to be *marked* — 

"As you should be, son..." 

And Athos's knees are... weak. 

So. 

He can't — no. He *will* stand straight, he *will* stand, and take — 

"Shh, shh. Does my beautiful boy need to kneel?" 

Athos groans and tries to — 

He's still having trouble *focusing* — 

Treville must have *backhanded* him — 

"I truly did. Rather harder than I would've backhanded *most* humans." 

Athos clenches and *bucks* again — 

He *whimpers* — 

There's *blood* and *slick* dripping to the rugs — 

"That's what they're there for, son. Now. Do you need to *kneel*." 

"I — I need to do —" 

"What I need you to do...?" 

"Yes! Please!" 

"Mm. Then we'll keep you on your feet for just a *little* longer." 

"Yes, sir! Please, sir!" 

Treville rumbles. "Already speaking clearly again. Your control over yourself has always been... incredibly arousing." 

"It... has?" 

"Oh, yes. I've wanted to break it to *shards*, son. And then *watch* you putting it back together." 

"Oh — UNGH —" 

"How do you like this degree of pressure on your... mm. *Sensitized* cock, son?" 

"You're. You're squeezing..." 

"That I am." 

"I squeeze that hard." 

"Do you, now. Mm. That is ultimately unsurprising. Here," Treville says and squeezes *harder* — 

"*Please*!" 

"Yes?" 

"I like it! I like it!" 

Treville rumbles again. "Your eyes are so wide. You're leaking so *fast* for a human..." 

"Please — *please* —" 

"Have you ever wanted to suck my cock, son?" 

"NNGH — yes, sir, *yes*, sir —" 

"Have you ever wanted me to *fuck* your mouth?"

"*Yes*, sir! Please — please *hard*." 

"*After* you've taken a blow to the face, son...?"

Athos moans and — "I've *dreamed* —" 

Treville snarls and darts in and bites Athos's *cheek* — 

"*Ahn* —" 

And then Treville bites him all over his *face*, bites his cheek and chin and sore *mouth* — 

Athos can't keep from crying out — and crying out *louder* when Treville starts *pumping* Athos's cock in his fist. 

It's so hard — 

It's so *hot* — 

It's so *rough* when he starts to *stroke* — 

Athos *sobs* — 

"My *boy*," Treville says — *growls* — and strokes fast, strokes *hard* — 

He's squeezing so *tightly* — 

Athos is shaking on his *feet* — 

He can't — 

His knees are so *weak* — 

"Mm. I *see*. *Don't* apologize," Treville says, and *chokes* Athos again — 

*Grips* him — 

Athos's cock *tries* to jerk, but Treville is holding it too *tightly* — 

Athos's *eyes* roll back in his head — 

He can't — 

He can't keep himself from *shoving* into Treville's fist — 

Chafing himself and taking his *force* — 

"That's right, son. It's *yours*." 

Please!

"*Fuck* my fist." 

I — I — 

"Do it hard, son. Do it *fast*." 

Athos tries to sob and *can't* — and bucks — 

And follows orders. Just — 

It feels so good — 

It feels so *right* — 

"The way I'm hurting you, son...? The way I'm making you *feel* me?" 

Yes, sir, yes, sir, please don't *stop* — 

"I *won't*. You're *mine*." 

Athos *bucks* again, loses his rhythm, panics because he loses his *rhythm* — 

"Shh, it's all right. Just *fuck* me, son. Fuck me hard and *dirty* —" 

Athos can't cry *out* — 

"I *hear* you, son. I hear *everything* you say." 

Please!

"Do you need to spend for me? Mm? Do you need to spend all *over* me?" 

I — I have to — 

"I *want* it, son. I want your slick, hot, *delicious* spend. I want it for *me*. I want to smell it, feel it, *taste* it —" He snarls again and squeezes hard with *both* hands — 

Athos *shoves* into his fist — 

"Give it to me!" 

Athos goes *rigid* — 

Treville flares his nostrils — and his eyes *gleam* as he loosens his grip on Athos's cock and strokes him fast, strokes him viciously, strokes him — 

Athos sobs noiselessly as his knees collapse, as Treville holds him *up* by his grip on Athos's throat — 

And Athos is spurting, spurting over and over again, all over Treville's *leathers* — 

"Good *boy*," he says, and *squeezes* again — 

Athos *screams* noiselessly — 

Bucks and spurts more, spurts painfully, spurts so — 

"Give me *everything*," Treville says, and strokes Athos again, strokes him so *brutally* — 

Athos is shaking and *shaking* — 

He doesn't think he has anything else *left* — 

"Mm. Perhaps not yet..." And then Treville wraps his arms around Athos and pulls him in for — a kiss. 

A *hard* kiss — 

A lapping and growling and — 

It's almost *exactly* like one of the kisses he'd *imagined* Treville giving when he was an adolescent — 

Treville coughs and pulls back — 

"Oh — please —" 

But Treville is grinning. "You know me so well, son," he says, and Athos's blood is on his mouth. 

Athos moans and parts his lips — 

*Wants* — 

*Needs* — 

"Yes, I'd say you do... but I have too many plans for your mouth to risk biting it again — which is what I'd be doing if I tried to kiss you like a man again." And Treville smiles ruefully. 

"Oh — *oh*. I —" 

Treville looks at him. 

"Sir, I know you don't *wish* me to apologize, but I've known about the dog in you since I was old enough to *think*." 

"But you haven't known the *details* of the dog's *sex* life, son." 

"I." Athos blushes. "Very true." 

Treville rumbles. "Good boy. Now let's get you onto the bed... and get me some of this incredibly delicious-smelling spend. I've only been waiting for it for a *decade*." 

Athos *coughs* — 

Treville yips a laugh. "On your back, at the center," he says, and slaps Athos's arse *hard*. 

"Unh — *yes*, sir," Athos says, and obeys. 

And then Treville steps back and shamelessly uses his fingers to swipe spend off his leathers before sucking and licking and nibbling and *slurping* those fingers clean again. 

He seems absolutely *riveted* by the process, as if anything at all could be happening nearby and not distract him in the *slightest*. 

(A *decade*, son.) 

"I." 

(And I could *smell* it when I walked past your rooms in the manor.) 

"Well, that... hm." 

(I could smell the scents *changing* as you grew more *mature*,) Treville says, and pauses to rub a small spatter of spend *into* his leathers. 

"That..." 

(I'm a dog, son.) 

"Yes, sir. I... have a question."

(Ask all your questions,) Treville says, and goes back to the licking and slurping. 

"Did you ever choose your younger lovers based on how mature they smelled?" 

(It was more that I *eliminated* some boys from my choices based on how *immature* they smelled. And if a brothel had too many of those boys... well, it didn't get my business, and I did my best to steer the men I knew who shared my predilections away from it, as well. *Additionally*, I would lure the boys away as the dog and then do my *damnedest* to lure the boys all the way to the garrison.) 

"I had... wondered." 

(Mm?) 

"About the flirtatiousness of the stableboys. And the mess boys. And the ammunition boys. And — I could go on." 

(That you —) And Treville slurps around his fingers *especially* noisily before tugging them free. "That you could, son. I think it's time for me to remove a few items of clothing." 

"A... few?"

Treville grins. "I need to keep a *little* control while I'm having my wicked, wicked way with *you*, son..." 

Athos shivers. "Yes, sir. Please, sir." 

"Thought you'd see it my way," Treville says, and strips himself down quickly and efficiently. 

Athos has seen him naked recently, of course, but he was glamoured. 

His cock was the human cock he'd had before he'd been changed. 

The fur on his abdomen was *hair*. 

Now... 

Well, he leaves his breeches on — he only loosens them — but the fur on his abdomen is brown and full of waves and *correct*. 

Treville rumbles and scratches it, clearly solely for Athos's benefit. 

Athos blushes. "I... I've always enjoyed seeing you, sir." 

"Mm. The feeling is entirely mutual, son. Spread your legs just a little bit wider... there. Perfect." Treville crawls onto the bed and kneels between Athos's legs, stroking his thighs. 

Athos smiles up at him. "Please, sir. What's next?" 

"Well... I imagine your cock feels very, very sensitive right now." 

"Yes, but —" 

"But it can be more sensitive...?" 

"*Yes*, sir!" 

"That's what I thought, too," Treville says, grinning and gripping Athos's still-hard cock around the base. "Mm. Such a *pretty* cock you have, son."

"I. Do I?" 

"So flushed with blood, so slick, so *thick*..." Treville growls. "It looks *hungry*, son..." 

"It. It is." 

"Really." 

"Please, sir —" 

"Beg for what you want." 

Athos opens his mouth — 

"Beg for *exactly* what you want." 

"Please — slap my cock! Please slap it again and again, sir!" 

"What about scratches?" 

And 'Anne' is laughing as she *rakes* her nails up his shaft — 

As she tosses her hair — 

As he tosses his head and *arches*, *begs* — *no*. Athos *wrenches* himself away from the memory — 

Treville growls low — 

"I'm *sorry* —" 

"Shh. It's all *right*, son. We were due to trip over that creature." 

"I — I —" 

"We were *overdue* to trip over her. It's a miracle that it didn't happen with you and Porthos the other night." 

"I — we were... very drunk," Athos says, and blushes — 

Blushes *deeply* — 

He won't let himself turn away. 

He will *not* — 

And Treville is stroking Athos with his free hand — 

Petting so firmly — 

So warmly and so — 

So... 

Athos licks his lips. "You're... not angry with me." 

Treville *looks* at him firmly. "No, son. I *hurt* for you, and I want to tear that creature *apart* —" 

"Please —" 

"And — you're not ready to hear that kind of talk. You might not ever be, and I have to accept that," Treville says, with the air of a man repeating a difficult *lesson*. And then he takes a deep breath and focuses on Athos again. "I'm not angry with you, son. I've needed this, too. I've needed to be *with* you to *help* you away from your terrible memories." 

"You... but. I would desire the same thing. I *have* desired the same thing."

Treville smiles. "With your brothers." 

"With you, as well, sir." 

Treville blinks — and then looks *wounded*. 

"Oh — sir —" 

"My boy... we've been too much *apart*." 

"I — I *agree* —" 

"No *longer*," Treville says, pushing closer and spreading Athos's legs wider with his knees. 

"Yes — *please* —" 

"Do you still want *pain*, son —" 

"*Always*!"

Treville growls and grips the base of Athos's cock *harder* — 

"*Yes*!" 

And then he slaps Athos's cock three times *hard* —

Athos can only *gasp* — 

"Is that so, son...?" 

And *then* the pain hits and Athos *howls* as his cock jerks in Treville's hand, spattering both of them and the bed — 

It — 

It jerks over and over — 

Athos is *writhing* — 

The pain is *blinding* — 

It just keeps getting more *intense* — 

"Oh, son... oh, son, you're *sharing* it, and that's *beautiful*." 

Athos spatters the bed *again* — 

He *clenches* and — 

"Oh — *God*!" Athos tries to still himself, tries to find his *control* — 

"Not that, son," Treville says, and slaps him *again* — 

*Again* — 

And this time Athos *screams* — 

There are *tears* in his eyes — 

He's bucking at *nothing* — 

He's pulled his *knees* up — 

He doesn't know *how* to put them back down and he's *writhing* again — 

He's so *hard* and it *aches* — 

He wants to be stroked, or licked, or — 

Or *something* — 

"Mm. We can work with that, I think..." 

"Sir — I — *please* —" 

"Shh. I've needed your cock in my mouth for —" 

"A decade?" 

Treville rumbles a laugh. "You were always impressive, son," he says, moving back and *immediately* swallowing Athos's cock — 

Athos *screams* again — 

Treville *sucks* — 

Athos arches and tries to *bury* himself in Treville's *throat* — 

(My boy...) 

Athos blushes *painfully* hard and tries to stop, tries to hold onto himself, tries — 

And then Treville *grips* him by the *arse* and *holds* him up in an arch — 

Holds him *deep* in his *throat* — 

Grinds his *face* against Athos's *groin* — 

Athos feels the bridge of Treville's strong nose against his pubic bone, feels his mouth *crushed* against him, feels his tongue pressed against the underside of his cock, feels his tongue thinning, lengthening — 

Athos gasps — 

Gasps again — 

Tries to say 'please' and *sobs* — 

And then Treville starts to *fuck* himself on Athos's cock, up and down and up again, *down* again, and he's sucking so hard, sucking so *hard* — 

And Athos's cock is *alive* with pain, with pleasure, with *feeling* — 

Every part of him is here, alive, taken, *alive* — 

Every part of him is *Treville's* in this moment, and there's nothing better, there's nothing more — 

More perfect — 

(Hmm... we could have the rest of the pack here...) 

Athos *bucks* again — 

*Sobs* again — 

"*Please*!" 

Treville laughs *darkly* in Athos's mind — and drags his *teeth* up Athos's shaft. 

Athos *howls* and bucks and bucks and — 

He can't — 

He can't *see* — 

Everything is so *hot* — 

Everything is so *wild* — 

(I've got you, son. Give me *everything*,) Treville says, and swallows Athos again — 

And sucks *viciously* — 

Athos *whimpers* — 

Shakes all *over* — 

(Now, son,) Treville says, and scrapes his teeth up, up — 

Athos howls and howls — 

Beats at the *bed* — 

Twists and writhes and fucks Treville's mouth *brutally* — 

(Perfect.) 

He can't stop — 

(*Don't* stop.) 

He can't *stop* — 

He — 

There's nothing — 

(*Spend*!) 

Athos hears himself screaming like an animal in a *trap*, but it feels so good, it feels so right, he feels so *alive* as he *shoves* himself down Treville's throat and spends and spends and — 

Gives everything. 

Everything he is. 

Treville sucks him and *works* him, pulls him *in* and *in* and *in* — and doesn't stop when Athos slumps — 

Doesn't stop when Athos pants and *groans* — 

He's so *strong* — 

He's so — 

Hungry. 

And he's *suckling* at Athos's cock, mouthing at every sore and sensitized *place*. 

It's maddening and wonderful, and Athos is reasonably sure that sitting a horse is going to be the most exciting experience known to man for the next several days. 

(No, son, that's what would've happened if I'd ever had the chance to eat your arse before my hair had the texture of the dog's fur.) 

"I."

(I tend to take my time with that sort of thing.) 

"So Uncle Reynard always intimated. And said. Plainly." 

(He had an especially delicious arse, son,) Treville says, and pulls off slowly — 

Slowly — 

With one last *brutal* suck. 

"NNH —" 

"Mmmm... good boy. *Delicious* boy," Treville says, and licks his lips. And starts petting him. 

"Oh, sir..." 

"Mm?" 

"I would very much like to — make *you* spend now." 

Treville gives him a wry look. "You were *about* to say something about *pleasing* me, weren't you." 

"I can, sometimes, be taught." 

Treville rumbles. "Yes, you can. My brilliant boy. Well. You're absolutely not going to *truly* relax until I spend, are you?" 

"I... could be forced?"

Treville looks thoughtful. 

"I'd rather not be...?" 

"We'll save it for another occasion, then." And Treville moves off the bed and *finally* removes his breeches. "Eager for this, were you?" 

"Fervently so," Athos says, and *studies* Treville's cock. 

The sheath is pulled all the way back, and he's *hard*. The way Athos has never actually *seen* him. 

"What, never?"

"No, sir —" 

"*Really*? How the hell did we avoid that?"

Athos blinks and looks up. "I... assumed... that you were trying?" 

"Well, of course we were *trying* —" 

"You didn't expect to *succeed*?" 

"Son, *think about who we were*." 

Athos stares at him. 

Treville stares back. 

Athos licks his lips. "I... wasn't actually *trying* to see you naked at the time?" 

"Oh." 

Athos raises an eyebrow slowly...

Treville snickers and crawls back onto the bed. 

"Oh — please let me look more —" 

"I plan on giving you a *close* look, son," Treville says, and moves to sit back against the headboard next to Athos. 

Athos grunts — "May I —" 

"Come get *right* between my legs, son. It's where you belong." 

Athos hears himself make a *guttural* sound and *obeys* — 

"Good boy. *Good* boy. Now why don't you get good and comfortable down there..." 

"I — I don't want to make you wait —" 

Treville rumbles. "*I* don't want to let you out of this bed without giving you the chance to explore my cock to your heart's content, son." 

Athos *blushes* — 

*Stares* — but. 

"Mm?" 

"That... could take some time, sir..." 

Treville rumbles and musses Athos's hair even *more* — "We'll just say you're getting a *start* on your studies, then." 

Athos licks his lips — 

Treville's cock jerks and spatters Athos's *face* — 

His *mouth* — 

"Why don't you lick those lips again, son..." 

Athos pants — "Yes, sir," he says, and obeys. And — "May I touch?" 

"Absolutely — but be *very* gentle with my knot." 

"Oh. Yes?" 

"Mm. Very much yes, son. It's easy for shifters with knots to lose control when you play with their knots the way you'd play with any other part of their tackle — or even play with them at all, sometimes." 

Athos *blinks* — and *carefully* wraps a hand most of the way around the massive, throbbing knot. "I suppose I should remember this for Porthos." 

Treville hums. "You absolutely should. He *started* to lose a little control when it was first growing *in*." 

"You... watched everything." 

Treville strokes his hair — 

The back of his neck — 

His ears — "Everything. While occasionally looking in on you." 

Athos blinks and looks *up* — "I wasn't —" 

"You were reading *that* play, son. I could *see* the happy memories on your face — and I could feel them when I reached for you gently." 

Athos licks his lips. "You've needed us." 

"Desperately." 

"I want to ask you why you didn't *take*." 

"Is it so hard to think of me as being foolish, son?" 

"Yes." 

Treville nods once. "Thank you — and I'm sorry." 

"I don't think I can let you keep apologizing, sir." 

Treville raises his eyebrows. "You can if it *helps* you, son." 

"It doesn't. It doesn't — ease me, or anything like that. I want to change the past, but not if it changes the present, or the future we *seem* to be building among us." 

Treville takes a deep breath and cups the back of Athos's neck. "I understand that with every part of myself." 

"Would you have changed the past if that option had been open to you?" 

Treville gives him a *dark* look — 

A hungry and *wounded* look — 

"Yes." 

Athos nods. "Don't apologize. And, Jason, if you're listening...?" 

(I am, Athos. What can I do for you?) 

"I understand the desire — the *need* — to *correct* the horrors of the past, especially when those horrors are at least partially our own fault." 

(Oh — of course you do. But —) 

"Wait, please." 

(I will wait.) 

"Only this: If it happens that you *did* have the opportunity to change the past, but failed, and simply chose not to tell us? I will understand, and so will Porthos, and, I daresay, so will *Aramis*. I'm not asking for you to tell us *now* — I understand that you're both working against a lifetime of secret-keeping, or multiple lifetimes, as the case may be — but... I needed to say that. Now, please speak." 

Treville smiles wryly. 

Jason hums within them — 

Treville *coughs* — 

(Mon amant *did* ask about changing the course of time, Athos —) 

"That I did —" 

(And I told him what I'm about to tell you: In all my years, I've come across *no* mage — either in-person or by reputation — able to do that *sort* of magery —) 

"And, truly, I already knew that. But I was desperate, and shocked, and grieving. And then I remembered that there was something powerful mages could do that could come *close* to flipping the hourglass." 

(And *that* is reaching into spheres where, for reasons which are *far* beyond my ken, time has moved more slowly — or more quickly — than it has in our own.) 

"Which led to the inevitable thought of seeking out Aramises on other spheres. Aramises... who were alone."

Athos nods and considers that — 

Considers what had gone *in* to that thought process, to that —

But if power is available to a man, he *will* use it. Simple as that. 

(*Do* you disapprove, Athos...?) 

Athos blinks — "No, Jason. It's only that I couldn't quite imagine the thought process. I couldn't imagine the ability to *achieve* the thought process." 

(You didn't spend *nearly* enough time teaching him about magery, amant.) 

"You're absolutely right. My Amina-love would've had us *all* trained — by *Ife*, when necessary." 

"Hm. I now feel hopelessly ignorant and *slow* —" 

Treville coughs again — "Son —" 

"Though the book Jason gave me to study is right there —" 

"Son, if you take your hand off my cock, I will weep." 

"I." 

Jason titters in their minds. 

Athos blinks —

"I'm going to remind you that you made that sound, lover." 

(You *wouldn't* —) 

"I'm going to remind you all the bloody —" 

(Athos, I have all *sorts* of books you could be studying —) 

"Oh, I —" 

"Son, don't make me stab Jason. I love him very much, and, thus far, it's been a rousingly positive relationship." 

Athos blinks — 

Puts his *other* hand on Treville's *balls* — 

"Thank you very —" 

Jason *guffaws* — 

"That's a much better laugh, lover." 

(Oh — oh, thank you —) And Jason keeps laughing. 

"Sir..." 

"Yes, son?" 

"I really do feel as though I *need* to study this —" 

Treville lowers his chin and *glares* — 

"Though, to be fair, that studying could happen — hm. Have you always been this *irresponsible*?"

Treville blinks — 

Jason *wheezes* — (I — I'm just going to... well. I'll be available *whenever* you'd like to discuss your studies, Athos.) 

"Thank you, Jason —"

(And don't think of your father as irresponsible. Think of him as being focused — desperately, truly, *madly* focused — on what you can do for him with your swollen, bruised, *wounded* lips ever so close to his aching cock —) 

Treville's cock *jerks* — 

Spatters Athos's face *again* — 

Jason laughs *evilly* — (Oh, this is the *best* game.) 

Athos licks his lips. "You're watching every moment of this." 

(Of course!) 

Treville scowls. "Shouldn't you be teaching Aramis more magic?" 

(Why are you assuming that I'm not teaching him how to *scry*, amant...?) 

Treville's eyes *widen* — 

Jason laughs *hard* — 

Athos hums and presses a *firm* kiss to the slick, dripping head of Treville's cock — 

"HNH —" 

"If he *is* watching, Jason..." 

Jason clears his throat. (Oh — mm. He *isn't*, but I'd be more than happy to pass along a *message*, Athos.) 

Athos licks his lips and stares at Treville's cock — 

His hard cock — 

His thick, red, *animal* — 

He *growls* — 

And Treville rumbles and *grips* his hair. 

"Please do let *both* Aramis and Porthos know, should you see them before I do, that the experience of making love with our father is entirely rewarding." 

"Oh, son..." 

(Despite his irresponsibility...?) 

"Consider taking up the buggery of rabid weasels, if you would," Treville says, in a tone of rumbling *pleasure* — 

(Just as soon as you lick my arse — oh, you do that every *day*. Never mind.) 

Athos can't say he's at all surprised by that — 

(Oh, of *course* you're not,) Jason says, and sighs with obvious pleasure. (Until later, both of you.) And the connection between them dims. 

Treville hums. "Ready, son...?" 

"I... are the two of you always like that?" 

"There are times when we bicker more. I'm a stubborn sonofabitch, and Jason is, despite appearances, *most* accustomed to spending his time *alone*. We can butt heads." 

"Yes?" 

"Mm. But even when we do..." Treville shakes his head. "I've *mostly* grown out of being belligerent for the sake of it, son." 

"'Meneur'." 

"Exactly. There wasn't a space for him after we lost Reynard. In truth, there wasn't a space for him after we lost *Kitos* — but losing Reynard took *all* the joy out of it." 

Athos winces. "I didn't mean to —" 

"Shh. It's not so hard to remember the man I used to be now, son. It's not painful to remember the good times, anymore." 

"No?" 

Treville smiles. "No. I'll tell you boys *all* about them." 

Athos shivers. "I'd like that very much." 

"You'll *still* be in hot water for letting Porthos shoot *melons* off Aramis's *head* —"

"Hundreds of times, yes —" 

Treville laughs painfully. "If you *wanted* to be whipped, son, you could've just *asked*." 

Athos coughs — 

"That's right, get that out of the way..." 

"I —" 

"And *suck* me." 

"Oh... oh... please... teach me how..." 

"Mm. I *watched* you sucking Porthos's cock the other night..." 

"Oh, God —" 

"You did an excellent job, son..." 

"I — I barely — there was so much of it I couldn't *take* —" 

"He was gentle with you..." 

"Yes. Yes, very — he's always —" 

"He doesn't have to be, son." 

"Oh." 

"*I* don't have to be." 

Athos licks his lips and stares *greedily* at Treville's cock. "You could... fuck me hard." 

"I could, son. I'll *teach* you how to fuck *yourself* hard, but I think we'll both prefer the other." 

"Oh. Oh... I. Yes. Please." Athos looks *up*. "What do you think Porthos will prefer?" 

"I *haven't* actually watched him make love before these past few nights —" 

"No?" 

Treville laughs hard. "Yes, I *did* earn that question —" 

"Rather extravagantly so, sir." 

Treville grins. "He *loves* having his knot mouthed and played with. He kept Aramis's throat *full* while Aramis did his best to *massage* that growing knot with his lips." 

"Oh... I want. I want that." 

Treville grins more broadly. "I'll teach you that, too..." 

"Do *you* like that, sir?" 

"I *prefer* having my knot played with when my cock is *outside* the mouth in question — it's easier for the other person to get *thorough* about things —" 

"Then —" 

"*But*, son, I have *dreamed* about educating you."

Athos blushes — 

*Blushes* — 

"Thoroughly...?" 

Treville grins like a *wolf*. "Oh, yes." 

Athos pants and licks his lips. "Where — how. How should I begin?" 

"Take me in, as far as you can. *Don't* push yourself, at first, and *don't* suck." 

"I — yes, sir," Athos says, and moves to obey, lowering Treville's cock to his mouth by his grip on Treville's knot. 

He takes about half of it in before it starts feeling difficult, but the head is much slimmer, much more... manageable. He takes more — 

And a little more — 

And then he's swallowing and swallowing *repeatedly* — 

He can't stop — 

Oh, Treville is *dripping* in his mouth — 

On the back of his *tongue* — 

The taste is so *strong* compared to Porthos — 

Treville sighs and pets him. "Porthos is going to taste a *lot* more like this now." 

"Mm —" But that makes clear, objective sense. Athos nods. 

"And the swallowing is a reflex when you get to that depth in your mouth — you'll actually find it easier, probably, if you take me all the way in. That does *not* mean you should do it right away. In fact, pull back a little." 

Athos frowns and obeys — 

And Treville laughs and pets him more. "Good boy. Good son. You have to let *me* concentrate, too, son." 

Oh. That was... pleasant? Even though I wasn't doing anything?

"Your bruised, battered, wounded, et cetera lips — *your* lips — are wrapped around my cock. At *last*. Son, I'm having a shock." And his tone and expression are calm, but his *eyes* are wild — 

And the *feel* of him inside... 

The feel of his *spirit* —

Athos shivers. Your successes at court make a great deal of sense, sir. 

Treville growls. "*Suck*." 

Athos grunts and *obeys* — 

"Good — good boy. Mm. Did you think I'd stopped being... passionate?" 

Athos blushes. I thought, perhaps, you had put it away... with the ringleader. 

"Oh, son. I never could. First lesson: Don't stop sucking," Treville says, and pulls Athos most of the way *off* his cock by his grip on Athos's *hair*. 

He pushes Athos down the same way — 

He lifts Athos *up* again — 

He — 

He's *directing* Athos, and directing Athos to *take* his cock, and it's *precisely* what Athos has imagined — if never in a bed — 

"Really, now... keep going. Keep *talking*." And Treville keeps — keeps *working* Athos's head — 

He — 

He doesn't buck or thrust — 

Not even when Athos sucks *hard* — that *is* different from the fantasies — 

Treville laughs softly. "Control, son. *Control*. I've lessons to teach." 

Yes, sir — 

"More. Give me more," Treville says, and keeps working Athos — 

Athos has started to *salivate* — 

He's *slurping* and sucking — 

It's juvenile, terrible — 

"It's beautiful. *Arousing*. It's getting you a lot closer to getting your face *fucked*." 

Athos *thrusts* against the bed — 

Pants — 

Shuts his mouth and *sucks* — 

"Good *boy*. Now tell me more about the feelings... and you get to have a little more." 

Athos moans and slurps — 

Sucks *hard* — 

"Come on now, son. You know what to do," Treville says, and pants a little — 

Yes, sir, yes — I — I always imagined *enjoying* you doing this, but... 

"Not this much? Not this... deeply?" 

Deep is the better word. You are... controlling me...

"That I *am*, son..."

You. You're making me... smaller.

"And you like that, don't you..." 

Yes, sir. *Please*, sir, Athos says, and slurps again — 

Again — 

Please more — 

"I can do... mm. Anything to you. Imagine what will happen when I start fucking you." 

Please — 

"Imagine what will happen when I start fucking you *while* I'm moving you into my thrusts." 

Oh — oh, *God* — 

"Did you never imagine that...?" 

It always seemed — I thought it would be *better* if you held me *still*, but... 

"Now you're not so sure about that. I *see*. You're a good boy, son." 

I — 

"You're a *brave* boy for being able to say all that to your Captain and *father*. I'm so proud of you. I've always been so *proud* of you," Treville says and *growls* — "More. More for you." And he pulls Athos on — 

And on — 

He makes Athos take him more *deeply*, and Athos is swallowing again, slurping and swallowing — 

He *coughs* — 

Treville tugs him *back* — 

No! Please! 

"Control your breathing, son. You're going to have to get used to swallowing *much* more often than you normally do." 

Yes, sir — *yes*. I will take your *lesson*. 

"Of course you will. Now *breathe*." 

Athos *obeys* — 

Breathes — 

*Breathes* — 

"Oh, good boy... that's it... just a little slower and steadier..." 

Athos obeys — 

"My boy. My good, good —" Treville growls. "Now," he says, and pulls Athos down and down so steadily, so *relentlessly* — 

Athos starts swallowing — 

"Focus on getting the rhythm of swallowing down before you start sucking again..." 

Yes, sir! 

"Good, boy. You — oh, you're driving me *mad*. Mm. Mm. You're so *perfect*." 

I'm *yours*, sir — and I'm ready — 

"Yes, you *are*. *Suck*." 

Athos *obeys* — 

"Nnh — oh, son..." And Treville's eyes are *gleaming* — 

Treville's eyes look *dangerous* — 

"You never have to — have to fear me —" 

I never *will*, sir! 

"*Fuck* — next *lesson*: Taking a cock while you're swallowing." 

*Yes*, sir — 

"Here," Treville says, and starts working Athos's head again — slower than before — 

Please — 

"Shh. Get *used* to it." 

Yes, sir — yes. I — please, I'm so... 

"Hungry...?" 

Athos flushes — Yes, sir. Very much so, he says, and sucks as hard as he can — 

Treville growls and tightens his grip on Athos's *hair* — 

Athos *grunts* — 

Loses his rhythm of swallows and barely stops himself from coughing — 

From — not choking. Not that — 

"That's right, son. You can do it. You can *take* it." 

Yes, sir, *yes* — 

"My good boy... faster now," Treville says, and — 

It's faster than it was before. 

It's — 

It's *harder* than it was before — 

Athos moans helplessly and sucks because he needs to, because the feel in his mouth *demands* it — 

"Does it, now..." 

You're so... thick. So big in me. So. I have to... shape you with my *mouth*.

"Oh, son. I promise to give you *many* opportunities." 

Athos moans again and *deliberately* slurps — 

Treville growls and *shudders* — "Good boy. *Good* boy..." 

Thank you, sir — 

"You're doing *perfectly*," he says, and when Athos looks up into his eyes — 

He looks hungry. 

He looks *starved*. 

He looks... 

"Like I want to..." And Treville licks his whole *face* with his long tongue. "Like I want to devour you whole, son?" 

Athos groans and tries to take the rest of Treville's cock — 

*Pulls* against Treville's grip — 

He can't — 

He's losing *hair* — 

"Oh, son. You're absolutely right. It *is* time for your next lesson..."

Athos's belly drops — 

"It's time for you to get *fucked* by your father, son..." 

Athos's cock *jerks* and he sucks, he *sucks* — 

Treville grunts and growls *hard* — "I'm highly, *highly* encouraged by that reaction," he says, pulling Athos onto his cock and holding him still. "Breathe." 

For a moment, Athos can't remember *how* — 

"Yes. You. *Can*." 

Athos *thrusts* against the bed — 

Nearly squeezes Treville's *knot* — 

Stops himself and breathes.

*Breathes* — 

"Good boy. Good son," Treville says, and he's panting in earnest, petting Athos's cheek with his free hand, petting Athos's stretched-wide *mouth* — 

Athos shivers and wants — 

Tries to imagine — 

*Stops* trying to imagine, because he knows it won't be anything like his fantasies, he knows it will be bigger, deeper, stranger — 

*Wilder* — 

He wants *everything* — 

"You'll *have* it," Treville says, growling under his breath. "Now get ready to *gulp*." 

Yes, sir, *yes* — 

"You'll feel the head start to slip into your throat — that's when you do it." 

Yes — 

"It's *different* with blunt-headed cocks. You gulp — nnh. You gulp *as* the head hits the back of your throat. You'll need practice. You *won't* get this right away. But your lover will be working *with* you. He wants this just as badly as you do, after all." 

Please, sir — I mean — 

"You mean *that*. Here it comes, son," Treville says, and thrusts into his mouth!

So slick —

So slick and hot and smooth and — 

He thrusts so slowly — 

So — 

Not deep. 

*Not* deep. 

Athos moans and moans and knows he's begging without words. He's aching, sucking, slurping and *straining* against Treville's grip — 

"Oh, *son*," Treville says, and starts thrusting a little deeper every time, every — 

Athos groans and nods, sucks, suckles — 

Licks and *needs* — 

"Be *ready*, son —" 

Yes, sir, yes, sir — 

And Treville thrusts *deep* — 

The head *breaches* — 

It's the most amazing — 

Athos has never felt — 

Of course Treville's cock is deeper than it was before — 

Of course it's deeper than anything has ever *been* in his mouth, but — the thought is profound, just the same. *Important*. The thought needs to be savoured, like the drip of Treville's slick down his *throat*, as opposed to on the back of his tongue — 

And Treville is laughing breathlessly. 

Athos looks *up* — 

Treville is sweating, panting, grinning no more wildly with his mouth than he is with his *eyes* — 

I... suppose I should... swallow. *Gulp*. 

"If you'd *like*. I mean, most people find what you're doing hideously uncomfortable." 

Truly? 

"Coughing is almost guaranteed, son." 

Oh. Hm. I... it is a *bit* uncomfortable... 

"Yes?" 

There's a sense of something... unfinished? 

"Really." And Treville licks his whole face again. "You could do something about that," he says — *slurs*. He didn't shrink his tongue all the way back to human-size. 

Sir, are you... 

(I'm hungry, son. Close to the end of my tether. But I won't hurt you in any way you don't *love*.) 

Athos shivers again — and suddenly it seems like having the head of Treville's cock just *sitting* there is... too much. 

Too — 

Athos *gulps* — 

Coughs — no — 

Treville grunts and shrinks his tongue — "Pull back, breathe, try again." 

Sir — 

"Do it." 

Athos obeys — 

Breathes and breathes and feels impatient, feels like he's been *shirking* — 

"Never that, son. Here," Treville says, and thrusts *in* — 

Athos *gulps* — 

Feels the tickle of an incoming cough and *ruthlessly* represses it — 

Gulps *again* — and feels himself full, taken, *stretched* where he's never been stretched before — 

"Oh — fuck, son —" Treville growls and pets him and pets him — 

Pants and *shudders* — 

"Just — relax into it..."

Athos nods and swallows and swallows — 

Tries to swallow *rhythmically* — 

Treville *snarls* and *bucks* — 

Athos tries and fails not to *cough* — 

And Treville pulls him off again — 

He — 

Sir, please don't! Please *don't*. I can take this — 

"You *will* take it — but it was time for you to take a deep breath anyway." 

Athos *groans* and breathes — 

*Breathes* — 

He doesn't want to breathe, at all — 

He misses being full *already* — 

His throat feels so *empty* — 

"Oh, son — fuck —" And Treville grips him again and *thrusts* — 

Athos gulps — 

Coughs — 

*Curses* himself — 

"Don't *do* that, son. I *told* you this was difficult. Now *breathe*." 

Athos *breathes* — 

Remembers how much work Treville had had to put in to keep Athos's *tension* from hurting his swordplay — 

Athos breathes and *relaxes* himself — 

Breathes more — 

More — 

"Good *boy*. *Now*," Treville says, and thrusts — 

Athos gulps twice — 

"HNH — oh, *son* —" 

And he's full, so full, and this time Treville doesn't wait, he thrusts *deeper* — 

Athos bucks against the *bed* — 

"My — *mine*," Treville says, growling and pulling out — 

*Not* pulling out of Athos's throat — 

Thrusting *in* — 

And starting to *fuck* him. He — 

"Next. *Lesson*." 

Yes, sir! *Yes*! 

"Kiss. My. *Knot*." And Treville thrusts in *deep* — 

Athos's lips are *crushed* against Treville's massive, *throbbing* knot — 

He kisses it, he sucks a kiss — 

Treville *barks* — 

Athos *blushes* and does it again, *again* — 

Treville *yips* — 

Grinds Athos *in* — 

Athos *shakes* — and wants to be able to take the knot *in* — 

"Oh, *fuck* —" 

Wants to have the whole, huge *thing* in his mouth so he can suck it, lick it, *mouth* it — 

"Ah —" Treville growls and pulls back while pulling *Athos* back — 

And then pulls Athos in while *thrusting* — 

It's the most incredible — 

Athos is thrusting against the bed — 

Groaning in his *chest* —

Struggling to kiss and suckle Treville's knot on every pass, every thrust, every —

"Son. *Son*." 

Please, sir, *anything*!

Treville *croons* — 

Athos *grinds* against the bed — 

His heart is pounding — 

His chest is *aching* with the lack of air — 

It's just making him *harder* — 

"Squeeze. Squeeze my knot —" 

Athos obeys immediately — 

Treville barks and *howls* — 

Thrusts *hard* — 

*Spurts* slick all over the back of Athos's *throat* — 

Athos's eyes are *wide* — 

And Treville is smiling down at him as he fucks Athos, as he *works* Athos and fucks him, and it's so — 

So — 

"Not long now, son..." 

Athos sucks *hard* — 

"HNH — my *boy*, my — squeeze *again*!" 

Athos *obeys* — 

Treville howls again and *slams* in — 

His head is thrown back — 

Athos is aching, *aching*, and he can't stop thrusting against the duvet like a callow boy, can't stop *anything* — 

He *needs* — 

Athos *pumps* Treville's knot, and Treville snarls and *grips* him, holds him still, holds him for his vicious, *pounding* thrusts, and Athos is leaking, clenching, dreaming of more —

Dreaming of having this on his *knees* — 

Dreaming of having this on his *back* — 

Treville barks again and — "*Everything*!" And his teeth are long again, *sharp* again — 

He's so close — 

He's so *hungry* — 

Athos tries to lap, tries to suck as hard as he — 

Treville snarls and howls and *shoves* in — 

So deep — 

So *deep* — 

Black creeps into the edges of Athos's vision — 

Athos's cock jerks and *jerks* — 

And Treville *spurts*, deep in Athos's throat as he *continues* to howl, as he *holds* Athos, as he — 

No, he *yanks* Athos back — 

Athos gasps through his nose helplessly — 

"*Taste* me!" 

Athos *sucks* before he can think — 

And Treville spurts in his mouth, all over his *mouth* — 

Athos's vision is fuzzy and full of bright *lights*, and the spend in his mouth is slick, thick, *musky* — 

So *different* from Porthos's — 

So — animal?

"That's — that's *right*..." And Treville croons and pets him, eases his grip and *pets* him — 

Spurts *again* — 

Treville is *whuffing* out sharp breaths — 

His cock is jerking and *spasming* over and *over* — 

So powerfully even once he *stops* spurting —

Athos swallows the hot, slick spend in his mouth and *suckles* him — 

Licks and hums and mouths — 

Suckles more, and gradually Treville's cock stops spasming —

Athos doesn't know if he should suckle more lightly or — 

"Lightly is good, son. I — mm. It's a rare male who wants anything different, times like these," Treville says, and croons again. His hair and beard and moustache are mussed — 

His eyes are still *gleaming* —

There are beads of sweat standing out on his chest that Athos wants to *lick* — 

Treville grins. "Then why don't you...?"

Athos blinks. I... assumed you'd planned to leave after this... 

Treville rumbles and pets him more. "I *will* have to go into the garrison in a bit, but... we have a little time, son." 

Athos moans and pulls back, releasing Treville's cock. His jaw and lips are somewhat sore, but — 

"Hmm." 

"Yes, sir?" 

"I'm trying to decide... we haven't done anything to you that particularly *needs* healing... yet..." 

Athos's cock *spasms* — 

"And that's an answer." 

"What – what was the *question*, sir?" 

"We *won't* be healing you, yet. Now come up here and let me taste myself in my son's mouth." 

Athos groans — and smiles helplessly. "Sir..." 

Treville smiles back, and strokes Athos's face. "Tell me, son." 

"I haven't had..." Athos shakes his head. "Not like this." 

Treville makes a hurt sound and *hauls* Athos close — 

"Oh —" 

Treville arranges Athos over his lap and wraps his arms around him so *tightly* — "Hold me *back*." 

"*Gladly*, sir," Athos says, and clutches — 

And Treville licks him all over his face and throat — 

Nips and kisses — 

Kisses his *mouth* *hard* — 

Athos moans and *takes* it — 

Presses as close as he can and sucks Treville's *tongue* — 

(Never doubt that I love you, son —) 

I love *you*!

(Never doubt that you're *mine*.) 

Athos shivers and *bucks* against Treville's furry abdomen — Never, sir!

Treville rumbles into his mouth and licks him, licks him *thoroughly* — (My good, good boy. Why don't we see what other lessons you need to learn...) And then he pulls back and smiles *wickedly* — 

Smiles like *Fearless* — 

It makes perfect sense. 

The smile on Athos's face feels like one of Olivier's.


	24. Fear may be the mind-killer, but loneliness is a cast-iron bitch.

Jason is considering — deeply — befriending another spirit-mage. 

While he is *technically* waiting for messages from the garrison for Treville — and waiting for *angry* messages from belowstairs from Cook, who has been waiting breakfast for all of them — he is also *busily* scrying his new *pack*, using both *his* bowl of spirit-mage blood and Treville's *inferior* bowl of same. 

He's using his *own* to scry Aramis and Porthos, who had slept well past dawn, and are now readying themselves with *many* breaks to kiss, to touch, to promise — 

Well. They're doing fine. 

He's using *Treville's* bowl to scry his amant and Athos, and while the images and thoughts and emotions are entirely easy to catch, *that* has more to do with the fact that he's looking in on one of his *amant's* assignations than it does with anything else. 

He and Treville are bound as tightly as any two mages *can* be, and thus *cannot* hide from each other without the assistance of a *god*. 

Spirit-mage blood is the finest tool *available* for scrying — which should make the experience that much *richer*, but... 

But. 

*Jason's* spirit-mage blood was a gift from Felice, a good friend who'd wished to have a part of herself stay *with* Jason across the centuries. 

*Treville's* spirit-mage blood was drained from a child-torturer whom Treville had in *turn* tortured for a *significant* period of time before *allowing* him to die of catastrophic blood-loss. 

This... 

Well, of course the blood *responds* to Jason's magic, but it's always rather sluggish about it, and the experience is... flatter than it should be, for a mage of his power and experience. 

Jason scowls at the bowl bad-naturedly — 

And then can do absolutely nothing of the kind, because Treville has summoned roots to grow high out of the walls — 

Roots to bind Athos's *wrists* — 

Treville summons a *switch* — 

He's never done that with *him*.

(Well, you're usually the one whipping *me*, lover.) 

That is true...

(But...?) 

A magical switch from your Mother wouldn't be *amiss*, amant. 

Treville shows his teeth. (Noted, lover,) he says, and strikes Athos's arse — 

The branches are *obviously* hard yet *supple* — 

Athos cries *out* — 

And Jason pours more power into the scry to get as much out of it as *possible*. 

Which is, perhaps, why — some pleasantly unknown length of time later — he's *blinking* at the knock on his door. 

It's possible — just possible — that he had allowed himself to grow a *trifle* focused on — 

Well. 

Athos's back, arse, and *thighs* are *thoroughly* welted. 

Treville is *sheathed* in sweat and *wonderfully* hard again — 

Athos is moaning and *begging* for *more*. 

But, when Jason checks the other bowl... 

*Aramis* and *Porthos* are the people outside Jason's door. 

Well. 

It may, in fact, be time to be a responsible adult again. Jason puts the bowls away, then stands and glamours himself — no. He needs *real* clothing for mages who aren't his lovers. 

He uses the shadows to dress himself *quickly* in the clothes of a lesser courtier — nothing *too* fashionable to offend his beloved dog — and then he *answers* the door. 

Porthos smiles at him and nods — and flares his nostrils and *blinks*. 

Aramis smiles and raises an *eyebrow* — 

Jason smiles back. "I will *not* pretend to *either* of you that I haven't been spending the morning... delightfully." 

"Uhh... should we come back?" 

"Not at all, Porthos," Jason says, and moves to gesture them both into his sitting room. "Treville is with Athos this morning —" 

"Oh — *shit* —" 

"*I*... was being a busybody." 

Aramis hums. "Were you also 'being a busybody' with *us*?" And he walks into Jason's rooms with his hands near his weapons and his *power* perfectly available to him. 

Lovely. "Of course."

Porthos's expression is wry as he walks in much more casually — though...

"Porthos..." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "Mm?" 

"Will you tell me how you learned to keep your power to hand at all times?" 

Porthos blinks again. "Treville didn't tell you I came up around witches?" 

"He *did*, but... I hadn't realized they would give so much training to a child with so little discernible power." 

"Got it," Porthos says, and looks around at Jason's gewgaws, his bibs and bobs, his eldritch knick-knacks — 

He shudders *violently* — 

Which is understandable, really — 

He looks at Jason. "Um. What were we talking about?" 

Jason coughs into his fist. "About the witches who raised you...?" 

"They didn't *raise* me. Not really. No one raised me after my Mum died — was *murdered*. But Yejide and her associates — she doesn't actually have *friends* — took care of me and some of the other orphans around. And trained *me*. Taught me everything I *could* learn, really." 

Jason nods thoughtfully. "Yejide... the name is familiar... she's a death-mage, I believe? Yoruba?" 

"That's right. You know her?" 

Aramis is watching this conversation *closely* — as he should. 

"I don't... but it had been my plan, years before I met your father, to come to France when I could and seek her out. Yoruba death-magery is rumoured to have certain breadth and *depths* to it that other sorts of death-magery does not." 

Porthos nods approvingly. "You could do a lot worse, mate. She's brilliant, and she *never* stops studying her art. She's also not one of those reckless types. You always knew that if you followed her instructions to the letter, you were going to come through all right." 

"My Porthos..." Aramis frowns. "This sounds as if you did more than learn from her." 

"Well, I did, love," Porthos says easily. "I was her liaison to the public for years, and I helped her with her workings, where I could." 

"My Porthos. Are you saying you helped her manipulate the *undead*?" 

"Well, mostly I helped with the, you know, *dispatching* of the *stroppy* undead —" 

"I am going to kill her." 

"Uhh. No, don't do that."

"My Porthos —" 

"Aramis, she *helped* me. *And* the people I cared about —" 

"How *old* were you when she was using you to help her kill *shades*?" 

"I..." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

Porthos scratches in front of his ear. "She kept me *safe*, love." 

"She was the one who put you in danger!" 

"Right, but —" 

Aramis growls — 

Porthos makes a soothing gesture. "Could we... maybe you could talk to her about it? Bring up your... concerns?" And Porthos smiles and nods. 

The smile is somewhat weak. 

Aramis narrows his eyes even more —

And Jason clears his throat, letting smoke escape for a hint of distraction. "If I may...?" 

Porthos looks to him in hopes of *rescue*, which is warming and lovely. 

Aramis's eyebrow raise could not be more belligerent, which is *also* lovely. 

Jason hums and folds his hands together in front of himself. "I think we can agree, at least among the three of us, that it can be... difficult to view the people who played any role whatsoever in caring for us when we were young in an *objective* light...?" 

"That is why we need fresh *eyes*!" 

"Aramis —" 

"Perhaps, *just* perhaps," Jason says, "the *owners* of those fresh eyes would be better served by *gently* helping their loved ones to see the many truths *they* see, rather than *immediately* engaging in murder and wholesale destruction...?"

Aramis frowns thoughtfully. "Does that... work?" 

Porthos's expression softens, and he moves to cup Aramis's face in his large hands. "I'll always listen to you, love. I'll always *want* to listen to you. I promise." 

Aramis gives Porthos a *sly* look. "And then we will murder her together...?" 

"Um." Porthos blinks rapidly and *sweats* — 

And Aramis leans in and licks both of his cheeks. "And then, *perhaps*, my Porthos will see his Yejide in a new light, and will not feel so *protective* of her, making his Aramis so deeply *enraged*." 

"Right, that. That right there," Porthos says, and *breathes* — 

And licks Aramis's mouth — 

"Always want to give you what you *hunger* for, love —" 

"Mm. Right now, I hunger for... teaching." 

Jason sighs happily. "I just happen to be available. To both of you, if you're interested, Porthos...?" 

"I *really* am. My body *surprised* me last night. I want that to happen *as little as possible*." 

Aramis colours — and purrs. "Perhaps not so little as *that*, my Porthos..." 

Porthos laughs and nips Aramis's *ear* — 

"*Ai*!" 

Jason hums and gestures to his table. "Shall we? Or would you both be more comfortable in the library?"

Aramis and Porthos share a look — and then nod. "Here will be well, M'sieu Blood, if you have everything *you* need." 

Jason smiles. "I do, Aramis. Please, both of you, make yourself comfortable," he says, and retrieves watered wine for the three of them from one of his pocket-spheres. 

"Uhh. Where?" 

"The shadow-creature possessing me allows me *many* abilities, Porthos. One of them is the ability to open *pockets* outside of this *reality*, where I may store whatever I wish, in nearly whatever conditions I wish," Jason says, and pours. "That's where your father and I keep the bowls of enchanted spirit-mage blood we use for scrying, as an example." 

Porthos and Aramis blink — 

Porthos cups Aramis's shoulder *protectively* — "You're not planning on using Aramis for that, are you?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "Earlier this morning I was thinking about how to go about befriending another spirit-mage so that *Treville* could have a bowl of blood that was as freely-donated as my own was —" 

"Uh." 

"He *stole* the blood of a spirit-mage?"

"A torturer of children, Aramis. He had been offering his services to local families as a tutor, and filling the children's minds with nightmares, then feeding on their terror and distress —" 

"*No* —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Your father rather made a *mess* with the man before exsanguinating him, but it means that he can't scry as powerfully as I can," Jason says, and spreads his hands. "Were I in your position, and knew only what you know about us, I would by no stretch of the imagination offer my blood for our use. But." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

Jason grins. "Porthos will need a bowl of his own." 

"Oi, wait —" 

"No, my Porthos, M'sieu Blood is correct —" 

"We are *not* going to *drain* you *dry* —" 

"*That* will not be necessary," Jason says. "A little blood at a time, over the course of weeks... well. You've *already* bound him." 

"And you *plan* to bind him, Jason, so don't even *start*." 

Well... there is that. Jason smiles ruefully. "I would *like* to bind Aramis. I would like our pack to be *completed*. I plan *nothing* he doesn't desire with all of himself." 

Aramis cocks his head to the side. "You will not seduce...?"

And *that*... Jason frowns. "I believe that's a difficult question, Aramis." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows again — 

"Why is this?" 

"Because you, Athos, *and* Porthos all respond *passionately* to good teaching. To good *teachers*. And I intended to be *that* to you — all of you — long before I desired anything else." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully — 

Aramis looks like he's been given the code to one of his *weaknesses* and must decide in the next several seconds what to do about it. 

Porthos blinks — 

Looks to *him* — 

And then turns to rumble in Aramis's ear — 

"Oh — my Porthos —" 

"There is nothing I don't love about training you up, love..." 

"I —" 

"And we're all going to be training each other, yeah...?" 

"Yes — *yes* —" 

"We'll make each other better. Harder. *Stronger*." 

"*Please* —" 

Porthos bites Aramis's throat through the collar of his doublet — 

Aramis grunts and *flushes* — 

His musk rises *wonderfully* — 

And he is no longer thinking about his reaction to good teaching as a weakness. Excellent work, Porthos. 

(Thank you *very* much for the heads-up, Jason,) Porthos says, and *licks* Aramis from his collar to his temple — 

"Oh, my Porthos —" 

"My Aramis. Mm. We'll get your blood *slowly* and *safely*, eh?" 

"*Yes*, my Porthos." 

And then they grin and turn back to *him*. 

It's rather *excessively* breathtaking — and both of them *absolutely* know it. 

Jason sighs. Well. He *has* spent the past five hundred years or so preaching the importance of *honesty*. "You're both stunningly beautiful people, and I cannot be happier that you've found each other." 

"Are you not a jealous man?" 

"I am a *very* jealous man — and a possessive man, and a *grasping* man, and a *covetous* man, and a *petty* man — well. I could go on." 

"That doesn't seem like Treville's type," Porthos says, doubtfully. 

"He sees the best in me — because I *give* him the best in me. And because he gives *me* *everything*." 

"This would ease the poison in many hearts," Aramis says, "But..." 

"Yes, Aramis? And would you consider calling me Jason?" 

Aramis *flashes* a smile. "I call you M'sieu Blood as a sign of respect for your age and wisdom and power and *experience*. Do you wish me to be so casual...?" 

Jason laughs softly. "I *wish* you to be entirely comfortable with me, Aramis —" 

Aramis pulls a dagger — "Then take my blood — and *then* tell me *truly* how you feel when you watch your Treville making love with other people." 

Jason *stares* — 

Aramis raises an eyebrow and pulls his sleeves up — 

Porthos laughs *hard* — 

And Jason licks his lips. "Did... Porthos prepare you..." 

"It will be *very* unpleasant, but the unpleasantness will be brief. I will be *cursed*. I am aware," Aramis says, and slashes his arm — 

Deftly places a preservation-spell on the cut so it won't *drip* — 

*Looks* at him — 

Porthos is still *laughing* — 

Jason licks his lips. "I..." 

"*Come* on, Jason," Porthos says, and he's *still* laughing — "You were *watching* last night. You know Aramis moves fast when he wants to." 

Aramis smiles like the predator he is. "An assassin *must* learn to move quickly, M'sieu —" 

"Please," Jason says, and it's really more of a growl as he summons strength and *grips* Aramis's arm with both hands, using his power to hold the *rest* of him still — 

Aramis makes a low sound of distress and *immediately* tries to fight — 

Porthos makes soothing noises that Aramis almost certainly can't take *in* right now — 

"Call me *Jason*," he says and darts in to suck, to *drink*, to *take* — 

And oh, there's nothing like the blood of a spirit-mage — 

There's nothing like that *immediate* connection, even when it comes with shock for the *force* of it. Here, there is no shock, at all. Only — 

(Jason...) And Aramis sounds wondering, curious, *interested* — 

He's already studying everything he can *get* to in Jason's mind — and there is absolutely no reason to hide anything from his pack. 

(No. There. *Isn't*,) Porthos says, and *both* he and Aramis go looking in some of Jason's *cupboards*. 

Well. 

He might as well give them a guided tour. 

Jason licks the wound closed, pulls back, and *directs* Porthos and Aramis — 

"*Fuck* —" 

Aramis recoils — 

"Those... are two of the *Juliáns* I found." 

"I — I — who. *What*." 

Jason closes that door — 

Porthos's expression is *grey* — 

And Aramis swallows sickly — and then bares his *teeth*. "Tell me! Tell me where those — those *people* are so that I may *kill* them!" 

"*I* have already murdered them, Aramis," Jason says, and folds his hands together on the table. 

"When did you *find* them?" And Porthos reaches to cup the back of Aramis's neck. 

"About a year and a half ago —" 

"*What*?" 

"Why were you *looking*?" And Aramis's eyes are still *wild* — 

Porthos squeezes the back of his neck — 

"Mon amant and I were discussing the Aramis from this sphere — and his many heresies — when the topic of his father came up. Treville told me the name Aramis had been given by the man, and I decided — on my own — to see what had become of the men who *kept* that name. It was... ultimately unsurprising." 

Aramis snarls — 

"*Jason*, what the bloody hell are you *talking* about —" 

"Aramis knows." 

Porthos frowns and looks to Aramis, who is panting and — no. 

He's breathing himself back under control with speed and ease, just as he should. 

"He *should* take it *easy* on himself, sometimes —" 

"I am here for my *lessons*, my Porthos," Aramis says, and focuses on Jason. "They cleaved to their fathers, despite the abuse. Despite the ignorance. Despite the shame and foolishness and *contradictions*. Despite the rank *stupidity*. They came to believe they *deserved* the beatings, whippings, and rapes —" 

Porthos *growls* — 

"— and so, when the time came, they decided the children in their care deserved the same *treatment*." 

"Fuck — I just can't — *no* Aramis can *do* that!" 

"You have the *answer*, my Porthos," Aramis says, and never looks away from Jason. "No *Aramis* could do that. *Aramis* is the child of my *mother*. *Aramis* is the man I became when I was still *with* my mother, and I was *choosing* who I was going to be as an adult." 

"Oh, love..." 

"Aramis is..." Aramis growls and turns to Porthos. "Jason has *reminded* me that, in the years that I have been an assassin, I have forgotten or put *aside* many of the things that I had *chosen* for the man I wanted to become —" 

"You were a *child* —" 

"I was a *brilliant* child, with a brilliant *mother*, my Porthos — just like you. And I do not think *you* have forgotten or put aside very much that you decided about yourself when you were young." And Aramis raises a *pointed* eyebrow. 

Porthos blushes and *grunts* — "Fuck. *Fuck*. No, love. No, I haven't. I still think —" 

"*Porthos* —" 

"I *still* think," Porthos says, and stabs at the table with a finger, "that a little bit of warning wouldn't have been a *bad idea*." 

"But —" 

"Aramis. He's not teaching you to *defend* yourself. He's not teaching you to fight against all comers at all *times*. He's bloody allowed to treat you *softly* *sometimes*." 

And that... Jason smiles ruefully. "He's absolutely correct, Aramis. I... am still not accustomed to being searched so... openly? Casually? Neither of those are the proper word for it —" 

"You're not bloody used to being part of a *pack*. Right?" And Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

Jason takes a breath — 

Aramis studies *both* of them — 

And Jason nods. "I imagine both of you could feel my years of solitude —" 

"Of loneliness," Aramis says, and looks at him pointedly, but not harshly. 

Jason inclines his head. "Just so. I have only rarely had true companionship over the course of my life. I treasure it. I *hoard* it. And I'm not very good at... hmm... keeping myself to *proper* behaviour when I'm offered a *surfeit* of companionship." 

"You don't know what to do with yourself," Porthos says.

"Precisely," Jason says, and takes a sip of wine. "In any event. I *do* apologize for *ambushing* both of you —" 

Aramis raises a hand. "I needed to know what happens when I *allow* myself to forget myself. *Porthos* needed to know that people *like* me could be... irredeemable." 

Porthos squeezes his eyes shut — but only for a moment. "I honestly want to go to all the spheres where you exist and *break* your father into tiny bloody *pieces*." 

Aramis blinks — 

Studies *Porthos* — 

And looks down with a smile. "Perhaps I should not be surprised by this..." 

Porthos growls and *massages* the back of his neck. "No, you bloody shouldn't be," he says, and kisses the top of Aramis's head before turning to Jason. "What do you say? Is there a way to do that?" 

"I have been... attempting, with mixed success, to talk to Aramis's *mother* about Aramis —" 

"She would never trust you!" 

"I — hm. Well, yes, that *has* been the problem. *Some* of the iterations of your mother have allowed me enough time to speak about the danger your father presents, but most of them —" 

"They can feel the *curses* and *deviance* on you, and wonder what *you* want with me," Aramis says, with perfect assurance. 

Jason smiles wryly. "Precisely. She might, however...?" 

"I." Aramis licks his lips. "I could see Maman again..."

Porthos moves his chair closer to Aramis — 

And Jason raises two fingers. "The women would *not* be your mother. Their lives will have been different, their situations —" 

"I understand this thing," Aramis says, and gestures curtly. "I wish to do it. Immediately." 

"I promised you safe passage wherever you wished to go, and that is what I will *give* you, Aramis, but I *must* say this: I have done similar things for *many* people over the centuries, and *all* of them have been shaken — often quite badly — by the experience." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "Are you attempting to convince me away from this?" 

"Not in the *slightest*. I *want* you to convince your mother — *all* of your mothers — to *clutch* their Aramises to their bosoms no matter *what* they must do to your fathers in order to make that happen —" 

"Then what?" 

"I want you to understand that this will *not* be *easy* for you —" 

"I *know* this thing —" 

"Aramis. She may recoil from you." 

Aramis jerks back — "She would *never* —" 

"*Your* mother would never recoil from you — and perhaps not ever from any Aramis who came to her. But." 

Aramis blinks rapidly — and looks thoughtful. 

Porthos squeezes the back of his neck. "I'll be there with you, love. I promise. In fact — uh. How would you feel about Athos coming with us?" 

Aramis blinks more — "I. He would wish to...? He does not know — he does not know I have decided to *stay* —" 

Jason clears his throat. "He truly does." 

Aramis colours. 

"Right, can we *talk* about how much you and Treville watch us *fuck*?" 

"At *length*, I hope..." 

Porthos *snorts* — 

And Jason turns to Aramis. "Treville has *also* informed him about what you said to Porthos about desiring him just as much —" 

"I! *Why* did Treville tell him —" 

"Because," Jason says, leaning back and crossing his legs, "Athos was well on his way into falling into a welter of depression and self-denial when it came to the two of you." 

"Wait, what?" Porthos leans in. "What are you — no. Fuck, I *know* what you're saying. He was going to bow *out*." 

"Oh — *no*!" 

"Oh, yes," Jason says. "Mon amant wanted to make *absolutely* certain that wouldn't happen." 

"And then he —" Aramis narrows his eyes. "Jason. You did not answer my question." 

Oh, dear. 

Porthos blinks — and then snorts again. "I wouldn't piss about there, Jason. I got to *count* the knives and other weapons he strapped to his body this morning." 

"That is because I love you very much, my Porthos," Aramis says, and doesn't look away from Jason. 

"I..." 

"Do you *always* avoid personal questions from the people you would have as your *pack*?" 

Porthos is snickering — 

"You bear a *horrible* resemblance to Treville, you know —" 

"He's my bloody *father* —" 

"Pay attention to *me*." 

Porthos *wheezes* — 

And Jason drags one hand down over his face. "Aramis. There is fear when Treville makes love to someone else."

Porthos coughs and *sobers* himself — "Oi —" 

Aramis cups Porthos's bicep and squeezes. "Tell me more. Please." 

"He has *had* no one else in our years together. While we have never been exclusive, and I have been *entirely* aware of his sexual and romantic history — hm. No, that isn't the best way to start, I don't think..." And Jason frowns and thinks. 

Aramis gives him the time to do it. 

*Porthos* looks as though as he wants to defend his father's honour right *now* — but, he is allowing himself to be held back by his Aramis. 

Jason will not make them wait. "As you know, Aramis, I am *helplessly* drawn to earth-mages. This has *always* been the case, and Treville is not the first *dog*-mage I've had as a lover. When Treville spoke to me, haltingly and with so much grief, of the *five* pack-members and lovers he had lost, I was anything but shocked... but I *was* worried. What would happen to me when he made a new pack? Would he put me aside if his new pack didn't accept me? Wouldn't it be better to hold myself apart? To *protect* myself from the pain of that?

"I'm certain you both can guess the rest of the questions I was asking myself — they tended to be the typical *sort* of questions a man asks if he's been alone long *enough*." 

Aramis and Porthos nod — 

And Jason nods back. "But... Treville pursued me. *Demanded* my time. Demanded my *company*. Demanded — not just my attention. Any sort of person can demand that. He wanted *me*. He wanted to *know* me, all of me, at all *times*. He ranted bitterly when I left him for missions — or 'missions' — and ranted *angrily* when I tried to hide myself from him in conversation. He... hunted me down." 

(Damned right, I did. You're *mine*.) 

Jason blushes — 

(Oh, lover... mm. I won't interrupt. I need to *hear* this.) 

Yes. Yes, you do, Jason says, and focuses on Porthos and Aramis again. Aramis looks thoughtful. *Porthos* is blushing just a little — 

That bears thought. But not right now. "It's not that I'd never had possessive lovers, or *desirous* lovers, or demanding lovers, or even all three. But to have a lover so *purely* hungry for me... no. That's not right, *either*." 

"No?"

"No, Aramis, because his hunger for me didn't change in the slightest when Athos, Porthos, and the other Aramis came to him at the garrison, even though he was *also* deeply hungry for them. In *love* with them. He... he was in love with me, and had every intention of *keeping* me, no matter *what*, and, for the *longest* time, I didn't have the faintest clue what to do with that." 

Aramis nods slowly — 

Porthos *winces* and nods. "That 'no matter what'. You'd never had *that*." 

"Not since I was a boy — and decidedly uncursed. Though..." Jason smiles ruefully. "I do believe that if I could have somehow *kept* Ser Darwyn through it all, he would've stood by me. He loved me far more than I could comprehend until it was nearly too late for me to *appreciate* it." 

"I'd like to hear about him, sometime," Porthos says, open and easy and so very *gentle*. 

"I would, as well," Aramis says — and *he* is far less gentle, but still so *interested*. 

Jason shivers. "This. This is what Treville gave me. The chance to speak. The chance to share. The chance to live in my best memories and draw the poison off my *worst*. The chance to give *him* that same gift. The chance to make the concept of solitude something other than an ugly and pathetic *lie* — because isn't solitude something which can be shared with another person? 

"The chance to be held in the dark, heartbeat to heartbeat. 

"The chance to laugh at my own ridiculousness — and know that when I pointed out Treville's own, he would laugh even *harder*. And the knowledge — slowly and inexorably becoming absolute *truth* — that *this* one would fight literally *anyone* for me, including his *goddess* —" 

"Uh." 

Aramis blinks — 

And Jason laughs. "The All-Mother, as I said, was not best pleased by the fact that Treville wished to keep my corruption in his soul. Treville... was not a very *good* politician about it." 

Porthos and Aramis *both* look horrified. 

"Yes, precisely. It really is a *good* thing she finds him so amusing. But..." And Jason licks his lips. "I bound myself to him. In *part* to keep the All-Mother feeling positively about both of us, but *mostly* because it was becoming *terrifyingly* clear that I'd found something truly priceless, and the *only* possible thing *to* do was to be sure I could keep it." 

Porthos and Aramis nod — 

"I didn't bind myself utterly," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "Not at first. Aramis knows what blood-mages can *do* to themselves when they wish to give themselves completely to another person —" 

"Uhh. I do, *too*, Jason. And I don't think you bloody *have* to do that just to say you *love* a person." 

Jason smiles. "No...? You *are* aware that your parents were bound just that way, yes...? 

"*Fuck* — wait, no, that was because Mum needed a *protector* —" 

(That, and because we both wanted it, son. She was my *mate*.) 

And Jason is expecting a shocked look, if not quite a *horrified* look, but — 

What he gets is a *thoughtful* look. 

And a certain *distinct* rise in musk. 

(Really, now...) 

Aramis blinks and *looks* at Porthos — 

And Porthos gives Aramis a *burning* look in return. 

Aramis smiles like a *madman* — and it does and doesn't look like the other Aramis's madder smiles. 

It's darker.

*Wilder*. 

And it makes Porthos growl and lean in and — 

Jason clears his throat. 

Aramis and Porthos *blink* — 

(You're an arsehole, lover.) 

"I only wish to be *absolutely* certain that Aramis gets his questions answered to the *fullest* *possible* extent —" 

"No, you're an arsehole," Porthos says. 

Jason snickers — *coughs* to stop himself. "Oh, dear. The *sounds* I make since I took up with your father are *ridiculous*." 

Aramis smiles wryly — and twines his fingers with Porthos's own. "He is your *lover*. Your *true* lover, in ways that usually exist only in the most *unrealistic* stories and poetry —" 

"*Very* true —" 

"But you still fear...?" 

"Today is the first *time* he left my bed for another's —" 

(Did you think I wouldn't come back.) 

And that... was more than a little dangerous...

His amant can *feel* him — 

(I feel you all *through* me —) 

"Please... wait just a moment?" 

Treville growls — and walks into the sitting room with a *thoroughly*-bruised Athos in tow. It really is remarkable they'd gotten him *dressed* without *healing* him — 

"Wait, *what*?" And Porthos turns to look — "Bloody *hell*, Treville!" And Porthos stands —

"Son, wait, I need to speak to Jason —" 

"You need to tell me what the sodding fuck you did to *Athos*!" 

Treville blushes *adorably* — 

Athos looks stunned — and, perhaps, still a bit *dazed*. 

*Aramis* seems to have decided to be a *spectator* for the moment — 

He's watching everyone with an *avid* expression on his face — 

"This is all *very* interesting, Jason." 

"Oh, yes, very —" 

"*Treville*. *Talk*," And Porthos is starting to *shift* — 

This could be a trifle — 

"Son, you need to calm down —" 

Porthos growls and *looms* over his father — 

Treville frowns deeply — and then shifts his entire *head* and *snarls* at Porthos —

Porthos yips in shock — and instinctive *submission* — and shifts back to human-form. "What — what the *fuck* —" 

*Treville* shifts back — "I'm sorry I had to do that, son, but you were about to lose control —" 

"Just *explain* — " 

"Ah. Porthos." And Athos *looks* at Porthos. 

Porthos frowns at him. "Are you all *right*?" 

"It occurs to me that we never quite got the opportunity to discuss my... preferences. The other night." 

"We were drunk off our *arses* the — oh. *Oh*. You..." Porthos blinks rapidly. "Athos, you... uh. Really?" 

Athos smiles with loose, absolute joy. "It was transcendent, brother. Jason, did you not get the chance to tell them...?" 

"Ah... no —" 

"Tell us *what*?" 

And Aramis looks to him with an eyebrow up — 

But Athos huffs and then smiles at Treville. "I only wanted to tell both of you — as soon as *possible* — that it is an *excellent* idea to make love with our father —" 

Porthos coughs — 

Aramis hums and crosses *his* legs — and doesn't look away from Jason. "Does he often backhand you?" 

Well. This is *safer* ground. "Only when I need it — and ask for it, one way or another." 

"'One way or another'...?" 

"We've learned how to communicate *well* in this respect, Aramis," Jason says, and looks to Treville. "He knows precisely when and how to give me what I need." 

"Then why do you *fear*." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "Yes, *that* —" 

"No, wait," Porthos says. "I still want to know more about *Athos*." 

"I'll tell you everything, brother," Athos says, and *grins* with his bruised mouth. "Everything you wish." 

"Oh — brother..." And Porthos rumbles. 

Treville smiles. "My boys." 

Porthos turns to Treville — "*You're* still on bloody punishment." 

Treville *coughs* — 

"Oh, brother, no, he gave me everything I wished, everything I craved, everything I *needed* —" 

"*I can smell how much pain you're in* — wait. Wait. I know what the problem is," Porthos says, standing straight, taking a deep breath, and giving himself a shake. 

Aramis stands and moves close — puts his scents in range. 

"Oh, fuck, yes, *thank* you," Porthos says, and buries his face in Aramis's hair for a moment, mussing it. And then he pulls back. "Right, I'm all right." 

"Am I... offensive?" And Athos looks *worried* — 

"No, absolutely not. What's *offending* me and putting my *hackles* up? Is the fact that I made love to you *wrong* the other night —" 

"It wasn't *wrong* —" 

"*Brother* —" 

"It — you gave me *pleasure*. You allowed *me* to give *you* pleasure, and, even though I wasn't very good at it —" 

"*Athos* —" 

"It was what we both *needed*. Isn't that what you said? It was *correct*." 

Porthos looks *stymied* — 

And Aramis reaches up to cup his face. "Perhaps my Porthos is simply unused to being in situations where he has not been the *perfect* lover in *all* ways...?" 

Porthos blushes *deeply* — 

Treville ducks his head and *smiles* — 

Aramis smiles *wickedly* — 

And Athos raises a wicked *eyebrow*. "Did you think I wouldn't give you as many opportunities as humanly possible to... get to know what I like best?"

Porthos's eyes flare a *hot* green. "Oh, brother... you know *exactly* how much I like to learn." 

"So I do," Athos says, and licks his swollen lips. 

"Where." And Porthos looks Athos over slowly. 

"I — mm?" 

"Where else did he *hurt* you, brother." 

Athos shivers. "My back. My arse. My thighs. My cock. My balls." 

Porthos *looks* at Treville again — 

Treville scratches in front of his ear and blushes again — 

And Porthos laughs softly and turns back to Athos. "He *whipped* you." 

"He *switched* me, brother." 

"What. Where did he get a *switch*?" 

"I asked the All-Mother for one, son — as well as for the smooth, supple roots I used to restrain him." 

"For fuck's *sake* —" 

"She sends Her love — and a request that I tell *you* to visit Her soon." 

Porthos's eyes widen dramatically. "Uhh." 

"It's all right, son; I'll go with you. It will all be fine —" 

"Oh, yes," Jason says. "She'll fuck you both *senseless* with raw power and, after you've spent enough to satisfy her *endless* need to fertilize other selves in other realities —" 

"What the bloody —" 

"Jason, stop helping." 

Jason shows his teeth.

Treville growls and advances on him. "*You* have explaining to do —" 

"You left my bed," Jason says, and lets himself smile *ruefully*. "You made love to one of the sons of your heart for the very first time. He *gave* himself to you. He *pledged* himself to you — and you to him —" 

"*Jason* —" 

"It was beautiful to watch, mon amant, and I did *not* forget that you did *literally* everything you could beforehand — including plotting and scheming *with* me — in order to make this a pack with me *in* it and *of* it —" 

"*Yes*, damn it —" 

"But. I am afraid." Jason takes a shuddering breath and looks down. "I apologize. I —" 

Treville growls and *yanks* Jason up and into his arms. "Lover. I will always *need* you. You'll always be *mine*. I'll never throw you *away*. And, despite your *best* efforts to the contrary, you're making the rest of this pack find you just as necessary." 

Jason stiffens — 

Buries his *face* against Treville's throat and lets his hair fall to cover, to *hide* — 

But he will not call the shadows. 

He will not run *away*. 

Athos hums. "Treville implied that, when the two of you argued, it was *him* being more belligerent." 

"Oh — fuck," Jason says, pulling back enough to look at Athos, to meet his *eyes* — "You must understand that mon amant will always take the blame for *everything* if you let him —" 

"And so will Jason," Treville says *mildly* — 

"*Treville* —" 

"You really do, lover —" 

"Oh — Cerridwen's *cock*, you're so — no, Athos, Aramis, *Porthos*," Jason says, taking them in as best as he can with Treville holding him so *tightly*. "He will *always* act as though I haven't been difficult, terrible, contrary, belligerent in my own *ways*. I strike for the tenderest places when I'm wounded, and I find ways to *teach* while I'm doing it, so the other person is forced to be *grateful* for my strikes. It's petty and *small* —" 

"And you've needed to be surrounded by people who love you," Treville says.

"I —" But Jason stops. Just — stops. 

There's nothing he can say to that, with Treville wrapped around him — 

With Treville's spirit this close to *swallowing* his own — 

With Treville knowing everything there is to know about him. 

"Amant..." 

"There's a freedom to that. If you'll take it." 

Jason shivers. But, inside, he's pushing himself further into Treville's *grip*. 

"You wanted that freedom when you bound yourself to me for good and all," Treville says firmly. "You wanted to be known for the rest of your life — by someone you could trust to *give* a damn for the rest of your life." 

Jason pants — 

Flushes — 

"Yes. *Yes*. And I know you do, I know you will, I know you'll *keep* me if you *possibly* can —"

"But you think my sons will separate me from you...?" 

Jason makes a disgusted sound — "I'm being manipulative — stop — let me —" 

"Shh. I already know the answer is yes." 

Jason's cheeks are *burning* — 

They *ache* with flush — 

"Amant..." 

"Lover. The only way we get what we need is to tell the truth. You know that," Treville says, and his eyes are warm, loving, *firm* — 

"*Yes* —" 

"Even when the truth is manipulative." 

Jason *winces* — 

"You know this truth already." 

"I —" 

"You would say the same thing to a loved one." 

Jason — breathes. "Yes. I would. I apologize —" 

"Shh. Everything is changing *quickly*. For *all* of us. You want to make the people you love happy *and* you want to protect yourself *and* you want to keep what you *have*, and you don't know how to do all of that at once." 

"*Yes* —" 

Treville licks the sweat from Jason's temple. "Everything you would normally do just being *yourself* — and *relaxing* a little — will make us happy." 

"I —" 

"You and I both know that protecting yourself is a game for fools when it comes to love. *You* learned that lesson hundreds of years ago." 

"I need to learn it anew every *time* —" 

"I'll never, ever leave you by choice. I'll never walk away from you. I'll never *turn* away from you. You're my brother and my lover and my partner and my coven and my *pack*. I *need* you. And I'll teach you what that means every day." 

"I..." 

"Mm? Mm." And Treville licks him from the corner of his mouth to his temple. "You give *me* a gift when you let me reassure you, you know." 

Jason blinks — 

Pulls back and *stares* at Treville — 

(Or you could reach for my spirit... and feel what everyone in this room feels.) 

Jason blushes *again* — and raises an eyebrow. "You're a *dog*. You wear your emotions all over your *body*, and leave bits of them strewn all over the *rugs*." 

"The better for you to lick them up after me, lover," Treville says, and lolls his tongue. 

Jason smiles helplessly — 

Cups Treville's face because he *must* — 

But he also must apologize.

"No, you really mustn't," Porthos says, and he has taken the opportunity to haul Athos close — 

"I truly didn't put up a fight," Athos says, with a smile on his face as Porthos pets him through his shirt. "And, no, you don't have to apologize." 

"You may do so if you wish," Aramis says, leaning back against Porthos as if he's a particularly loving wall and petting the hand Porthos has splayed on his abdomen. "I know for myself that heartfelt apologies can make one feel much *cleaner*, when given in the proper context..." 

Jason *blinks* — 

And Aramis smiles slowly and *sharply*. "But. I believe you would be better served by continuing to speak to us, and letting us come to know you as more than the mysterious and intimidatingly-powerful mage who enjoys watching us *fuck*." 

"Bloody *that*." 

Athos hums. "He's really quite droll." 

"Well, we'd noticed that," Porthos says — 

"Oh, yes, he has an excellent wit when he is not using it to disguise the scars on his soul —" 

"And, to be fair, when he is," Treville says, and leans in to lick Jason's mouth. "Come on. Let's get breakfast before Cook strings me up by my bollocks." 

"But the question, sir, is would you *like* that?" And Porthos *looks* at Treville — 

Treville grins back. "I'm 'sir' again...?" 

"Uhh..." 

"Don't get me wrong, son," Treville says, and leads them all out of Jason's suite of rooms, one hand *firmly* placed at the small of Jason's back — "I appreciate the *initiative* you're taking in increasing the intimacy between us —" 

"Oh fuck." 

"I really do recommend it, brother." 

"You also recommend getting *switched* — oh — shit — good morning, Alaire!" Porthos says, voice cracking like an adolescent's. 

Alaire looks at all of them for a long moment, scar tissue twitching dramatically and horrifically. 

And then he inclines his head. "Sirs." 

And then he moves on.

"Bloody — *sir*." 

"Yes, son...?" 

"Can't you bloody *heal* him? A *little*?" 

"I can, and I did, in fact, offer," Treville says, leading them through the halls. 

"He *refused*?" 

"I have to admit, I would have been a little sad if he'd taken me up on it —" 

Porthos smacks the back of Treville's head — 

"... ow?"

"I — fuck — stop making me insubordinate! Sir!" 

Treville grins like a boy and licks his *teeth* — 

"*Just* so you all know...?" 

Aramis hums. "Yes, Jason?" 

"Treville really will *only* enforce discipline when it's a matter of your safety — and when you *want* it." 

Porthos looks horrified — 

Aramis nods in satisfaction. "Yes, this is the man I have come to know."

Athos huffs. "'Fearless'." 

Treville grins *wickedly* and begins to *swagger* — 

"Oh my fucking — I need a *hat* to smack you with —" 

"Your hands are much harder and sturdier, son..."

"Why did you make that sound so *hot*?"

Treville snickers like a boy — and turns to nip Jason's jaw. 

"I am well, amant —" 

"What you *are* is still *worried*, just a little, down deep." 

"I... hm. I could come to *regret* you knowing this much about me —" 

"No, you couldn't." 

"*Arse* —" 

"Lover. I'm going to make you feel how much you belong to me every day. *Every* day," Treville says, and looks... into him. Not through him. 

Never that. 

Jason smiles and pushes closer to his love.


	25. If you're going to fuck your children, at the very least be considerate of the staff.

Aramis sits next to Porthos and examines his plate full of — cold — meat and potatoes.

It...

It is... 

Treville coughs into his fist at the head of the table. "Cook takes away my treats when I've erred, Aramis." 

Porthos *snorts*. 

"Your... vegetables?" And Athos seems as nonplussed as Aramis feels. 

"Vegetables," Jason says, already well into *his* cold meat, "are for the well-behaved."

Porthos *guffaws* — 

And Treville swallows a large bite of potato. "I didn't see a carrot or pea for months when I was still fucking the kitchen boys." 

Porthos chokes on his meat. 

Aramis pauses with his fork close to his lips — and *looks* at Treville. 

Treville winks at him. 

Athos hums and keeps eating — 

And Jason smiles at Porthos and Aramis. "I asked Cook about the matter — what went into his disciplinary habits and the like." 

"And... what... did he say...?" 

"Absolutely nothing. I was too new to be trusted. So I asked the boys themselves. They sighed rather dreamily and asked me if I couldn't convince the Master to turn his attentions back to them again —" 

Athos mouths 'I told you so' to Porthos — 

Porthos snickers and continues to fail to *eat* anything — 

"*I* said that I would do what I could, but, of course, Cook was very upset about the whole matter. Leading, of course, but at that point the boys were positively lost in reminiscences about Treville's *knot*..." 

Treville blushes and drinks off his watered wine — 

"It's quite an impressive knot," Athos says. 

"Oh, *agreed*," Jason says.

"What." Aramis licks his lips. 

Puts the fork down. 

"What did the boys say?" 

"Young Nouel said 'ah, oui, it's true, the Master always leaves us too stupid to do our tasks.' At which point young Denis sighed and asked Nouel if he remembered the time when Nouel had attempted to stuff a bird without plucking or washing it first, at which point they began discussing mon amant's *knot* again. I took my leave." 

Treville is eating *studiously* — while blushing to the roots of his hair.

Porthos has laughed so much that he has turned a slightly different colour. 

Athos...

Athos is nodding as if this all makes perfect sense. 

Jason toasts Aramis and grins, but — 

"*Treville*." 

Treville swallows hugely and looks up, still blushing. "Yes, son?" 

"Do you still fuck *boys*?"

Treville blinks. "Not in years — though I do sometimes miss it." 

"So you will do it again?" 

Treville studies him, and nods once — though it does not seem to be in response to his question. 

Aramis raises an eyebrow — 

Porthos is not *laughing* anymore — he can feel Aramis — 

(Yes, I can, love, what —) 

"It bothers you. It *hurts* you," Treville says, and his tone is gentle, but firm. 

The urge to hide, to back away from this — is itself. He will not do that. "It is not like growing up in a well-run brothel, Treville. Your staff depends on you for the entirety of their livelihoods. This is even more... severe when the staff in question are children. I am not kind to the people who hurt children." 

"Well, when it comes to that, son... neither am I." And Treville raises his eyebrows — then shakes his head and lowers them. "I won't play that game. You don't *have* to dance with me. In plain words: I don't give anyone pain who doesn't *want* it. Who doesn't *ask* for it. I don't fuck boys who are too young to know *how* to ask for what they want — and how to mouth off to me as viciously as possible. Do I teach the boys how to ask? Sometimes. When it's necessary. When they don't know *quite* enough. But, when it comes to *that*, more often than not it turns out that they *don't* actually want what they thought they did, and we try something else. 

"I'm not a predator. I'm not a monster. And I take a great and deep pleasure in tearing predators and monsters *apart*, piece by bloody piece." And *then* he raises his eyebrows. 

And that... "Why did you stop fucking the kitchen boys?"

"Because I took up with Jason... and because I wanted to stop *antagonizing* Cook, who has been good to me. Far better than I've deserved." 

Aramis frowns. "But you *miss* boys." 

"And a man doesn't change his predilections? True enough, Aramis. But I didn't fuck all that many boys when I was surrounded by my *first* pack, either." 

"Not 'all that many'...?" 

"The men I was then..." Treville shakes his head. "'Fearless'. 'Meneur'. They had an image to uphold. A swagger to maintain. A *face* to keep steady and solid against the cracks of time and grief. I was telling Athos, earlier, that there was no joy in being those men after we lost Kitos and Reynard, but I could just as easily have said that I stopped bearing the weight of being those men after I lost my brothers... except for moments, here and there, when I can be... lighter than I actually am." He growls. "No, Aramis, that's a lot of words to say a simple thing: You can't have an adult relationship with a child, and, the older I get, the more I need adults around me." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow again. "Even when you are parenting them?" 

"Even then, son." 

"Well, that's a relief," Porthos says. "I mean, I was starting to wonder if you were fantasizing about dandling me on your *knee*, sir." 

"Are you saying you haven't had that fantasy, brother?" 

Porthos looks stricken. 

Aramis cannot *think* — 

Athos smiles *evilly*. "Kidding." 

"You're an *arse* —" 

"Actually, sons, since you've brought it up —" 

"Oh my God." 

"I do *quite* enjoy having people sit on my lap —" 

"Bloody *hell*, sir —" 

Athos is choking on his — heavily-watered, this morning — wine — 

"And I will continue talking about this until everyone is done with their breakfast." 

They all eat very, very quickly after that. 

Except for Jason, who slows down.


	26. In which no one fades into the shadows.

"Right, so we're definitely doing this?" And Porthos looks Aramis and the freshly-healed Athos over. He doesn't *have* to look Jason over — Jason's getting a *thorough* farewell treatment from Treville, who'll be going into the garrison while the rest of them walk the bloody spheres. 

It's — 

Well, Porthos had been worried about that — the Captain shouldn't ride *alone* — but Treville had just smiled that *wild* smile at him, and pointed out that earth-mages — and their horses — had options for traveling the world that other men didn't. 

And then told him to go visit the All-Mother again. 

Which — 

No, he's not thinking about that right now. 

He looks at his *brothers* — 

And Aramis can't hide his excitement — he's poised on the balls of his feet like he's about to leap up a *wall* — 

Which is completely bloody understandable — 

But Athos looks a little morose. 

"Athos...?" 

"Mm? No, I'm quite —" 

"You're not all right." 

"Hm. I —" 

"Athos." 

"I... would rather not have been healed *quite* so soon. That's all." 

Porthos looks at him. 

Athos smiles ruefully. 

Porthos looks at *Treville*, who's whispering something *filthy* in Jason's ear over there — Porthos can't hear more than one word in three; Treville's being *that* quiet about things, but the gist is clear — 

"It really is an entirely worthwhile experience, brother." 

"I —" 

At which point Aramis joins them, and curls into Porthos's side, and lifts one of Porthos's hands up in the space between them and Athos. "Do you see this hand, Athos?" 

"I do." 

"This hand can deliver pleasures and discipline that will make you weep with *joy*." 

Porthos *coughs* — 

"I... have no doubt of this? Whatsoever." 

Aramis makes a scoffing noise. "Then why have you decided to fill our Porthos's mind with self-doubt?"

Our —

But Athos's eyes are wide — 

Worried — 

*Horrified* — 

Shit — "Athos, no —" 

"Brother, I would *never* —" 

"It's all *right* —" 

"You *must* know that I am in love with you —" 

"And I'm in love with you — both of you —" 

"I would *never* make you *doubt* —" 

Porthos cups Athos's face and kisses him *hard* — 

(*Please* —) 

It's *all right*, Porthos says, and kisses Athos harder, *harder* — 

Athos groans and — goes loose. He — 

Fuck, just like that. 

Porthos bites Athos's lips and kisses him again — 

Again and again — 

And he can talk, too. He pulls back — 

Kisses Athos's forehead — 

And tilts Athos's head up until they can look each other in the eye. "I was worried. I *was*... uh... my pride got stung, a bit." 

Athos winces. "I never *wanted* that —" 

"I know that. But you should also know — both of you should know," Porthos says, and tugs Aramis back in *range* — 

"My Porthos —" 

"Both of you should *know* that when my pride gets stung, it just makes me want to do better, eh? Makes me want to work *harder* —" 

"This is not supposed to be *work*, my Porthos!" 

"All right, wrong choice of words —" 

"Is it?" And Athos is looking *into* him. 

Porthos licks his lips and nods slowly, not really meaning yes. Just — acknowledging this. 

All of it. 

And then Jason walks up to join them — 

Porthos blinks and looks around — Treville is gone. 

"He has gone to retrieve his Lisle and then join with the All-Mother for a quick, invigorating trip to the garrison," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "He had the feeling that his presence among you would be more awkward than welcome in this moment." 

Porthos *winces* — and so do Athos and Aramis. 

"All is well," Jason says. "This sort of thing is never *easy*, as I think I proved earlier...?"

Aramis licks his lips. "We would like this... we would *all* like this to proceed *smoothly*."

Porthos nods and cups the back of Aramis's neck — 

Aramis pushes back into his *touch* — and then turns to share a look with *Athos*. 

Athos's eyes widen — but then he nods and moves close to Aramis's other side. "We would... we do not want anyone to be *hurt*." 

Jason smiles *ruefully*. "As I was saying to mon amant yesterday... that's the sort of magery that *no one* has mastered." 

Porthos winces — 

Aramis frowns. "Has Treville spoken of the hurts suffered in his first pack?" 

Jason inclines his head. "They all put a great deal of time and energy into *easing* those hurts. But... specifics?"

"Please," Aramis says, and they're all nodding.

"Porthos's mother Amina was jealous of Athos's mother Marie-Angelique —" 

"What —" 

"I... what?" 

"From the memories Treville shared, it was clear that she knew that Marie-Angelique was the *only* other woman in Treville's life — and knew that Marie-Angelique embodied all of the accomplishments of an *exceptional* French noblewoman, while also being *magnificently* well-read and beautiful in... soft ways." 

Porthos winces. "Right, yeah, I — part of me still can't imagine my Mum having those kinds of feelings about anyone, but the rest of me has a brain in his head." 

Jason inclines his head. "Marie-Angelique was jealous of *Amina* — for the freedom she had to move and live among men, among *soldiers*, and the many freedoms she *shouldn't* have had, but took for herself anyway. She was jealous of her boldness, her ability to be considered another *brother* by the men they both loved. She was jealous of her strength, her facility with violence... many things." 

Athos winces. "I... this sounds..." 

"Familiar...?" 

Athos nods. "Thomas and I... overheard, some of those conversations. But it was clear that it was after the problems had been mostly... taken care of. The men had taken Mother into their confidence." 

Porthos jerks his chin at Athos. "Do you think your Mum wondered if they did it in my Mum's *absence*?" 

"Oh — fuck." 

Aramis looks to both of them — and them looks to Jason. "Did they?" 

"No, Aramis. They had fixed the problem before then. There were other problems, as well —" 

"What were they?" And Athos sounds hungry — 

And Porthos has to admit he is, too. 

"Reynard was jealous of Amina's place in Treville's life. When he realized they were mated, he thought, for a time, that Treville would lose his need for his *weapon*. His strong right hand. Kitos felt he would be forgotten by the others if they ever consummated their attraction for each other —" 

"*Why*?" And Athos looks and sounds completely *incredulous* — 

But Jason is hesitating. 

Porthos moves in a step. "Jason...?" 

"I... I must ask you all to tread gently when you ask Treville for more information about these issues. They remain a source of great pain for him. He feels he failed his pack, despite all the work he did to heal the wounds on their souls." 

Aramis cocks his head to the side. "Was he *responsible* for the wounds?" 

"I believe it would be more correct to say that he was not as deft in his youth as he is now, and blundered over the wounds that were already there in all ignorance, making them worse." 

Athos nods thoughtfully — 

Porthos winces — 

Aramis frowns — 

And Jason spreads his hands. "In any event, well after Reynard's soul was eased, Kitos had a habit of trying to fade into the shadows in any gathering, believing that he would be unwanted. The fact that he was nearly seven feet tall and ludicrously massive made those efforts less successful than they could've been... as did the fact that Amina, Marie-Angelique, and Laurent were apparently aware from the beginning that he would try, and put everyone on alert." 

"*Good*," Porthos says — 

"What — what else?" 

"Your father, Athos. *He* was utterly convinced —" 

"That he was — too strange. Too... broken. Too... He was convinced that he couldn't be loved as anything other than a curiosity." 

"Precisely." 

Porthos and Aramis *look* at Athos — 

Athos smiles ruefully. "Our father showed me a memory... he worried for Thomas and me. He worried that we would suffer the same difficulties he had. Suffer the same... the same *breaks* he had." 

Porthos winces. "Brother..." 

"He talked about... wishing that he could simply *order* us to open ourselves to the right people, when the time came. Wishing that he could turn us into *that* kind of soldier..." Athos licks his lips. "Part of me wishes that he had." 

"Oh — *Athos* —" 

"Brother. If he had, I never would have waited with you, or the Aramis we lost." 

"But how much more deeply entangled would you have become with... your wife," Aramis says, and rests one hand on Athos's arm. 

Athos *stiffens* — 

Inhales — 

And forcibly relaxes himself. He nods. "I — I see precisely what you're saying, Aramis. Thank you," he says, and covers Aramis's hand with his own shaking one. 

Aramis makes a small sound and twines their fingers together — 

Squeezes tightly — 

And Athos smiles, small and wondering, into Aramis's eyes. 

Aramis colours... and smiles warmly. "You must ask my Porthos for permission before you touch me *lustfully*, Athos, but... I would like for you to ask." 

"Right, that's hot." 

Athos looks *stunned* — 

And then he looks to Porthos — with his cheeks *aflame* under that beard. 

"Yeah, mate? Got something to say?" 

Athos huffs. "Porthos." 

"I mean, I'd love to hear it — and I *know* Aramis would, too," Porthos says, getting serious again. Getting... just a little hard. 

Athos growls — and tightens his grip on Aramis's hand. 

Aramis *grunts* — 

Porthos thickens in his breeches — "Athos." 

"I would like permission to make love with your Aramis, Porthos." 

Porthos licks his lips. He feels like he's *burning*. He feels like — "With or without me right there to *help*, brother...?" 

Athos shudders and growls again — and looks to Aramis, who is smiling while ducking his head. "Both. Please." 

Aramis *shivers* — 

Porthos flares his nostrils — "You like that, don't you, love..." 

"Yes, my Porthos. But what *you* will is paramount, of course." 

That...

Well.

Obviously, Aramis thinks he doesn't need a mind today. He leans in and bites, right behind that ear — 

"Ah!" 

He sucks and bites *harder* — 

"Oh, *yes*, my Porthos!" 

He *marks* his Aramis — 

Marks him *again* — 

And then pulls back and covers Athos's and Aramis's hands where they're twined together. "The answer is yes." 

Athos growls — "Thank you," he says — *grits* — and it sounds like a threat. 

Porthos licks his teeth. "You're *welcome*, brother..." 

Aramis pants, and then smiles like a *madman* — still with his head ducked. "My Porthos is good to me." 

"I'm going to be good to you every chance I *get*, love," Porthos says, and moves his hand right back to Aramis's nape. 

Aramis moans — 

And then Porthos turns to Jason, who is damned well fading into his own shadows, just as subtle as you please. "Jason. Don't you have a question to ask me?" 

Aramis gasps — 

Athos *smiles* —

And Jason blinks rapidly, shadows peeling away as he obviously *works* to study Aramis. 

"Head up, love." 

"Yes, my Porthos," Aramis says, and he's flushed, blinking rapidly — 

His pulse is rabbiting a little in his throat — 

*He's* working to bring his breathing under control — 

And Athos has stopped smiling and is giving him a *look*. 

Porthos nods. He understands — but. 

Nobody fades into the shadows. 

Everybody *shares* what they *need*. 

Aramis moans — 

And Jason shudders. "Porthos. While I desperately long to make love with Aramis in *every* way that pleases *all* of us... I wish to *hold* my request to myself until such time as I've had the chance to... offer more of the truths of myself to him. To — all of you." 

"And you're *going* to do that right bloody now? No fading?" 

"Yes, Porthos. I will not — I *will* learn this lesson." 

For some reason, that makes Athos turn to meet Jason's eyes — 

Jason smiles ruefully into Athos's eyes and nods — 

Athos nods back and turns to Porthos. "I believe we should endeavor to learn as many lessons from those who came before us as possible." 

"I — yes, agreed," Aramis says, but he still sounds a little shaken, a little... off. 

Porthos lifts his nose — he smells that way, too. "Aramis?" 

Aramis shivers. "All is well —" 

"No. It isn't," Porthos says, and *grips* Aramis's neck. "What's wrong."

Aramis *stiffens* — 

Tries to look *away* — 

He's *pale* — 

Porthos *growls* — no. No. Not anger. "Aramis, tell me what's wrong. You have to tell me so I can fix it. So it can't ever hurt you again." 

Aramis blinks — 

Frowns — 

And stops trying to look away. He turns *toward* Porthos — 

Licks his lips — 

*Searches* Porthos with and without his power, which mean he really *was* rattled — but. He nods. "My Porthos. You... you were acting as though you would give me to a man you knew I still felt somewhat wary of. I see *now* that you would *not* have done so — perhaps not even if Jason *had* asked and I had indicated my agreement —" 

"I *wouldn't* have — and. I fucked up, love," Porthos says, and winces hard. "I —" Porthos shakes his head. "The Aramis we lost..." 

Aramis inhales sharply — "He would have known. He would have known you had not planned to sacrifice him for the sake of the pack." 

Porthos nods. "He. I always knew that some part of *him* knew, down deep, that I loved him. *Cherished* him." 

"And you felt this for him... from the beginning?" 

"He had my heart. Like you do." Porthos frowns and shakes his head. "Athos tried to warn me that I was going too far —" 

"I saw... he gave you a look..." 

"Yeah. I was too busy plotting and scheming. Nobody ever lets me make the plans for a *reason*, love," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. "I'm *sorry*. I won't drag you into things like that again —" 

"*No*," Aramis says, and *blazes* at him — 

"Aramis —" 

"You *love* me. You *cherish* me. You will never treat me *ill* —" 

"*Never* —" 

Aramis nods once. "You are *mine* and I am *yours*. *This* is the truth I will hold to. I will be your strong right hand in *all* you do."

Porthos growls and kisses Aramis *hard*, using his free hand to cup his cheek — 

Aramis sucks his tongue and presses close — 

Pushes in so *close* — 

And Porthos is growling harder and lapping at Aramis's mouth, his face, his *collar* — 

Aramis laughs *delightedly* — and licks him back before offering more of himself *to* be licked. 

Athos huffs. "You're already so well-prepared for lovemaking with Treville, Aramis." 

Porthos *coughs* — 

Aramis chokes — "*Athos* —" 

"He's absolutely correct, Aramis," Jason says, and he's smiling warmly *and* wickedly. "You have a long, long, saliva-sheathed existence ahead of you." 

Aramis looks somewhat stricken. 

Athos huffs repeatedly — 

Porthos puts his tongue away. "So. Uh." 

"Hmm...?" And Jason looks bright-eyed and *interested* in whatever Porthos has to say.

Athos is still *huffing* over there — 

He's dangerously close to a real *laugh* — 

"Oh — God —" And Athos covers his face and huffs *more* — 

Porthos scowls at him — 

Aramis clears his throat. 

Porthos blinks. "Right, yeah, I was changing the subject away from all the spit." 

Aramis looks stricken again — 

Athos makes a *strangled* noise — 

Jason *coughs* — and turns to Aramis. "As an aside, when I shift into my demonic form and have a long tongue —" 

"I —" 

"What —" 

"My shadows can keep it quite dry." 

Athos *snorts* — "Oh, *God* —" 

"Oh, fuck, brother, are you all *right*?" 

"It's just — I would think a dry tongue would be *more* disturbing." 

"It *is*," Aramis says — 

"Ah, well. The choice is yours," Jason says, and blows a smoky kiss — 

"Changing the subject!" 

"To *what*, my Porthos?" 

"I have no idea! Bloody help, somebody!"

Jason clears his throat. "Perhaps the three of you would like to hear about the other problems Treville's first pack worked through?" 

"Oh, fuck, yes, thank you," Porthos says, and uses his handkerchief to dab at the few damp places still showing on Aramis — 

"My *Porthos*, I." 

"Mm?"

"No, I have no complaints about this." 

"Right, then." 

"So long as you know that I do *not* want you to stop licking me." 

"Well, I'd probably have an easier time not *knotting* you, so that's good." 

Aramis *coughs* — 

"You *knotted* him?" And Athos is now staring at Porthos's crotch. 

"I wasn't expecting it to grow that fast, but — yeah —" 

Aramis sighs happily. "It was *perfect*. Except for the regrettable physical vulnerability afterward." 

Athos nods thoughtfully and continues staring at Porthos's crotch. "Guns and throwing weapons near the bed in the future?" 

"*Oh*, yes." 

"Porthos will need to be trained to throw —" 

"I already told him, Athos —" 

"Good. Hm." Athos looks to Jason. "How is Treville at knife-throwing?" 

Jason sighs and spreads his hands. "He remains, regrettably, something of a closer with knives —" 

"I will teach them *both*," Aramis says. 

Jason grins bloody *rapaciously*. "Did you plan to allow mon amant to knot you...?" 

Aramis's eyes widen *dramatically* — 

Jason laughs ruefully — "That wasn't very nice of me..." 

"You are not a very nice man, I don't think..." 

"But he can *behave* himself," Porthos says — 

"No, my Porthos," Aramis says. "He must show us his true self. He has not hurt me — or any of the rest of us — with his words. He is *playing* with us. Yes?" 

And Jason is turned away. He hasn't stepped back, but — 

But Porthos can *remember* everything the man had said about what time spent alone had done to *him*. 

And remember all the ways they *all* understand that. 

"Jason..." 

"Porthos, your voice is *frighteningly* gentle," he says, and laughs again. 

"Is gentleness frightening?" 

"At times. You — hm." And Jason turns back to Porthos and studies him for a long moment. "No, I daresay *you* almost never fear a gentle touch. Your loves do, though." 

"I —" 

"Sometimes... it is the most difficult thing to accept," Athos says. 

Aramis tucks Porthos's handkerchief away. "Sometimes it feels like an *additional* failure to add to the tally." 

"What — *no* —" 

"As if you were not strong enough to accept a more normal tone of voice. As if you had *proven* to the very people you loved and needed and respected most that you were not strong enough for *them*," Athos says — 

"Bloody *hell*. *Athos* —" 

"I know you better than that *now*, brother," Athos says, and smiles wryly. "You've taught me that gentleness, from you, is never a loss of respect." And he turns to meet Jason's eyes with his own eyebrows up. 

Jason hums. "I will take that lesson as well, Athos. Will you, Aramis?" 

"My Porthos is always properly firm with me, even when he is being gentle. This is well," Aramis says, and he might as well be *purring* —

And he absolutely *is* giving Porthos nice, detailed instructions on his care and feeding. 

Porthos *knows* how to take an order. He nips Aramis's ear. "That's right, love," he says, and turns to Jason. "But Jason, we all have to take care of each other. Tell me what the *best* ways are to take care of you." 

And Jason just stares at him for a long moment. 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"We truly all must know, Jason," Athos says. "Treville has *his* ways of taking care of you, and they're obviously effective, but this is a *pack*." 

"This is so," Aramis says. "Show me — show *us* — *this* part of yourself." 

Jason licks his lips. "Treville thought... that he was doing this for you. For the three of you." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "He did not know me." 

"True. Let me rephrase: He thought that he was doing this for his two surviving sons, and for an Aramis who hadn't yet had the chance to have brotherhood." 

"You knew better." 

"I did — and so did he, well before we found you, Aramis. He would not have *asked* for me to do this for only his own needs, but he is too wise not to *recognize* those needs. What I did not know..." And Jason shivers hard, and clenches his hands together in front of himself. 

Porthos stares at those hands — "Jason?" 

He shivers again. "He called you 'our' children. Just as if I could ever have had anything to do..." Jason frowns direfully. "When the two of us were alone this morning, before he went to Athos, he told me that I needed a family just as much as Aramis did. That I needed to be... I can't continue that thought. I apologize," he says, and flushes. 

"Jason —" 

"The *gist* is that *he* knew perfectly well that he wasn't only doing this 'for the children'. But. He still wasn't doing it for himself. He." 

"He was doing it for you," Aramis says, low and sure. 

Jason *shudders*. "I... would rather not think about that. But I had to share it. You — you all had to know this —" 

Athos moves close to Jason, gripping his arm — 

"Oh — Athos. I —" 

"I don't know how to be a part of a pack. Not truly. But I remember what it is to be part of a family, and I am pleased to know that feeling again." 

Aramis moves close and kisses Jason's cheeks and mouth. "I know nothing of pack, and I lost my only family when I was barely more than a boy. We will learn together." 

Porthos hugs them *all*. "Pack is bloody new, and family is where you find it. We'll *all* learn together." 

"Agreed," Athos says — 

"Yes, my Porthos." 

"You... I..." And Jason pulls back slowly, *gently* — 

His eyes are wide — 

His expression is *dumbfounded* — 

And Porthos gets it, he thinks. "We trust you. You haven't done anything we *all* don't understand right down to where *everything* bloody hurts — we've all been *alone*. And *Athos* may not be able to smell it or feel it, but Aramis and I can tell exactly how much you care about us. How much you *love* us. All of us." 

"I —" 

"Your deeds make it all abundantly clear," Athos says.

"That, *too* —" 

"You — I tore apart and *ate* my *lover*!" 

And that. 

Well, they're all standing there staring for a minute. 

Maybe more than a minute. 

Maybe also they're thinking about all the ways Jason and Treville are each other's *type* — 

At least *Porthos* is — 

"Was." Athos clears his throat. "Was there something that *precipitated* that... series of acts?" 

(Well, now you've done it, Jason. You're going to have to talk about your *past*,) Treville says, and he sounds bloody amused — 

Jason is pinching the bridge of his nose — 

And Aramis takes a deep breath and leads them to the chairs and couches in the study. "Yes, Jason, you *do*." 

And that's how they get to find out that Jason was a bloody knight of the *Round* Table, which wasn't nearly as Christian as people liked to talk about *now*, and *was* full of people who liked their blood-mages just fine, so long as they kept the healing and water-purification coming, and didn't do anything too creepy — like appearing to come back from the dead, which is exactly what Jason had done. 

He'd been shunned by everyone except for his Ser Darwyn, who'd loved him from the time he was a boy, and Arthur and Merlin, who still planned to make use of him. Merlin had used Jason's new isolation to train him and teach him how to read and write — especially once Darwyn had gone home, finally too injured for even Jason to heal.

And — 

"And then Morgan came, with her *awful* son, and that... no, it wasn't the beginning of the end. That had come before. But it still *feels* like the beginning of the end, if that makes sense." 

"It does, mate, but — uh. Are you about to tell us that *Morgan* was your lover?" 

"Well... yes?" 

"Jason, you were *there* for us to talking to Athos about *his* liar of a wife. And *she* wasn't even an evil mage." 

"I —" 

"No, wait, my Porthos," Aramis says. "The stories have been twisted over time. We know this. Perhaps Morgan has been maligned, as witches often are," he says, and leans in closer to Jason. "What was she like?" 

"I — well..." And Jason licks his lips. 

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos raises two. 

"She and Mordred were fair, rather than dark..." 

"Oh, yes...?" 

"Arthur was entirely aware that she was his sister..." 

"Oh, my!" 

"It was rather impossible not to *see* when you stood them next to each other in daylight. Or in any light, truly. The host laboured in *willful* ignorance." 

"Uh. Really?"

"Would *you* want to know that about the King who led you by the acclamation of the gods of earth and sky and sea and hearth?"

Porthos *stares* for a long moment — 

Tries to imagine having a King like that — 

*Really* having a King like that, as opposed to just having something that people mouthed words like that about —

Tries to imagine *wanting* — "Right, I think I just smacked up against your age for the first time. Sorry about that." 

Jason laughs and grins. "Not to worry. It was bound to happen *sometime*." 

"Wait, though, did Arthur live *up* to that? *You* were close enough to tell."

"I was," Jason says, and licks his lips, obviously looking into the past for a long moment before shaking it off and looking at all of *them*. "I told your father, last night, that *he* reminded me of Arthur. That men like him — and, in other ways, the three of you — truly did only come around once or twice per millennium. Make of that what you will." 

They're *all* blinking for that — 

They're all *blushing* — 

(He's avoiding your questions, you know,) Treville says. 

Porthos blinks — 

Athos stares at Jason — 

And Aramis growls. "What was Morgan *like*." 

"I..." 

(She was powerful enough to hide her magery from even Merlin — and, when she got the chance, she lured Jason in close and showed her secret to him. Knowing he had no one to tell. Knowing he had no one he *would* tell, because he was just that embittered and *lonely*. Arthur kept him on as a healer, but the men would often choose to die rather than accept his touch. Men who had called themselves his friend in the past. 

(You can all guess what that had done to him. 

(You can all guess what it did to him to have a beautiful, powerful woman treating him as though he were someone *special* again. He was nineteen years old.) 

Jason is looking away. 

There are shadows coiled around his arms and legs — 

And Porthos knows, in his *bones*, that Treville had pieced together a lot of this himself. That Jason hadn't been *able* to share it. Not even after all this *time*. 

(Time heals nothing, son. You need love for that. Family. Friends. *Acceptance*. Exactly what Jason didn't get —) 

(*Amant* —)

(Especially once Morgan betrayed Arthur's host to a demonic horde — and strung Jason up, defiled his body, and tried to sacrifice him in a ritual designed to gain her a powerful fire-demon — one of the All-Mother's eldest children — as a slave. She only failed because the fire-demon — Etrigan — knew that taking the sacrifice *would* leave him enslaved to a powerful mage, and decided to make common cause with Jason, instead. They wound up sharing a soul — permanently. Now say the rest, lover — because I know you think you need to.) 

"Think —" Jason growls and glares wildly. "We battled for hours. It might've been days. Morgan fed off the power of the demons slaughtering Arthur's host. I had forgotten their fate. I had forgotten everything except for my — my wounded heart. My wounded *pride*. Etrigan and I tore her apart, and ate every scrap we could find in the rubble. By the time I had come back to myself enough to remember the battle and return... the crows had come. And so had every other kind of scavenger. 

"Scavengers this sphere had never *seen*, because the demons had left rifts open behind them when they came and left. Etrigan and I closed them, and he burned everything on my request. I found Merlin with a handful of... keepsakes, including the sword. Wherever Mordred had gotten to, during Etrigan's and my battle with his mother, he wouldn't get it. I needed to know that. 

"I had my own keepsakes. Merlin taught me the art of preservation, and then he left me without another word.

"When I finally went to wash, I saw that my face — my *mouth* — was streaked with gore. Merlin hadn't mentioned it. I..." Jason shakes his head and stands, moving to the large fireplace and gripping the mantelpiece with both hands. 

Porthos shares a look with Aramis and Athos — 

They nod and stand together, though Aramis is blushing. Porthos cups the back of his neck. 

"Jason," Athos says, "while, on the one hand, I don't believe any of us can understand the drive to *consume* an enemy after killing them —" 

"Uh." 

Athos blinks. 

Aramis looks at him. 

"Look, there's a dog in me with *opinions*, all right?" 

(That's *right*, son.) 

"Bloody hell, sir — no, wait. *Jason*. We *get* this. You were a bloody *mess*. If you could've gone back and done things differently, you *would* have. That doesn't change the fact that she used you, manipulated you in the worst possible ways, and tried to feed you to a bloody *demon*. Uh. No offense, Etrigan." 

_None taken,_ Etrigan says, and his voice in their minds is the rasp of everything flammable burning in a stone room. _I have continued to have some few friends and companionable acquaintances over the centuries, but Blood has singularly failed to find permanent companionship for himself —_

"I —" 

_Until now. As I always suspected, he needed to be all but restrained and pelted with it before it took. Please do carry on. He's miserable company in this soul when he's lonely._

"*Thank* you —" 

_Which is all the time._

Jason flushes, pulls a bottle of... *something* out of nothingness — 

_It's blood. He's really quite predictable._

Jason drinks the entire bottle — 

Licks his lips — 

Cleans the bottle with shadows — 

Licks his lips *again* — 

_He'll be much improved now —_

"Will you *shut* it?" 

And Porthos can *feel* Etrigan... smiling. 

Meanly. 

_Until later._

"Now, then. I believe it is *past* time for us to visit with *an* Aramis's mother —" 

"Wait," Aramis says, standing and moving close to Jason, looking down into his eyes — 

Jason's eyes are *wild* — 

And Aramis's eyes — he's struggling with something. 

Something tells Porthos to wait it out, though. Just — 

Let this play out. 

And, after long moments, Aramis cups Jason's face. "Is this all right?" 

"I could ask you the same —" 

"Please, *tell* me." 

"Your touch is wonderful, Aramis. Though I wonder if you mean to *give* it." 

"I do not..." Aramis frowns, and strokes Jason's cheekbones with his thumbs. "Jason. *Teacher*. I do not know how you have come to be able to accept touch again. I do not know how you have come to... trust it." 

Jason inhales sharply — and nods. "I needed time — and an earth-mage." 

"You are *fixated* —" 

"They smell every lie — and they can't abide them. And even the ones who are decent at lying themselves... well. They lose that ability at *speed* once they care for you even a *little*." And Jason raises an eyebrow.

Aramis blinks — "This..." He turns to Athos. "How do you keep Porthos *safe*?" 

"Trusting in his ability to protect himself —" 

"That is not *enough*!" 

"— especially his ability to keep himself surrounded by people who wish to protect him above all others," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow.

Aramis licks his lips — "I... was needed." 

They all nod for that — 

Aramis takes a deep, shuddering breath and turns back to Jason. "Teacher..." 

"What do you need, Aramis? What can I give you?"

"We cannot be alone," Aramis says. "None of us can be alone." 

"I *agree* —" 

"You must not — even if it seems that two or more of us are conversing easily and well without you, you must not think we do not want you to be a part of it, Teacher. You must not think we do not want your wisdom, and your years, and your *time*." 

"Aramis —" 

"You must tell us what it's *like* to have a King who is your general! We have all only heard stories of such things. You must tell us what it's like to live in a world in which *all* people know the gods walk. You must *teach*."

Jason parts his lips — and shivers. 

And Treville's laughter in their minds is low and ribald. (I bet you want to ask that question now, lover...) 

"Oh, *shut* it —" 

Athos huffs — 

Porthos *snickers* — 

And Aramis smiles slowly — 

*Invitingly* — 

And drags his fingertips along Jason's bare cheeks as he steps back into Porthos's arms. 

Jason's eyes flare red — but only for a moment before he smiles *evilly*. "Why, Aramis. I had no *idea* that you wanted me to meet your mother with an erection." 

Aramis gestures airily. "It would not be the first she'd seen, Teacher. Though, if *you* have a knot, it *could* be the most impressive." 

Jason *coughs* — 

(Nicely done, son,) Treville says, and the pride and *love* he feels fills *all* of them. 

Aramis *grins* — 

Porthos licks him — a little — 

And Athos picks up the empty bottle. "Whose... blood...?"


	27. Tricky boy.

It is late afternoon by the position of the sun in the sky when they walk out of the alley, and that is the *only* thing that tells Aramis that they have left the sphere, as opposed to simply traveling across the city, since it was late *morning* when they had entered Jason's portal in the study. 

It still seems to be autumn — 

He is glamoured to appear somewhat different. A thicker wave to his hair, which is now a deeper chestnut with no gold highlights; a more square jaw; a more aquiline nose — and his mother's blue eyes.

The Aramis who belongs in this place, they have agreed, should only be approached as a last resort, lest he immediately do something reckless. And...

And the Merchant's Quarter is the same. The *same* — no. 

That hostler is in much better repair. 

*That* brothel cannot possibly be owned by Florine — there is too much trash out front!

And... he only recognizes some of the people, despite the fact that the people he *does* recognize were all here when he was — and the youths he recognizes were his *age*, or close to it. 

Aramis frowns as they move down the street — 

"All right, love?" Porthos is speaking quietly. His arm is around Aramis's shoulders, and they are close on the narrow shoulder of the road. 

Athos and Jason are behind them — 

Aramis knows that Jason is waiting for him to demur. That he is waiting for Aramis to be too disturbed to go on —

"Hardly," Jason says. "As I said, Aramis — I want you to take this trip with me as many times as *possible*. I want to *avert* the events that follow you leaving Madame Margaud's with your father —"

"This — you did say this," Aramis says, and breathes. 

And breathes —

Porthos squeezes him subtly —

And Aramis smiles at him wryly. "You can tell — all of you can, I imagine — that the changes are... affecting."

"They would be for *anyone*, love —"

"I —" 

"Please, listen to Porthos," Athos says. "I can't imagine what this sort of journey would be like for me."

Aramis shivers — and nods. 

And Jason takes a deep breath. "You *could* make a journey like this, Athos."

"I. To — see the man who would've been my father on Aramis's sphere."

"*I* will do this thing —"

"*Or*," Porthos says, "We all will."

Aramis blinks.

"We could even bring Treville with us, eh? Didn't you say he could talk your Dad into things, brother?"

"I — yes —"

"While I would do anything but disparage mon amant's persuasiveness..."

"You will do it anyway, Teacher?"

"I — hm. How often did you plan to call me that?"

"How often did you plan to teach?"

Jason sighs with a luxuriant happiness. "Thank you for that. In *any* event —" 

"That particular Laurent d'Achille de la Fère will be... different. How different remains to be seen, but... hm. Aramis."

"Yes, my Athos?"

"My — hm. I believe I'm going to greet your mother with my own — no, no. I'm going to *focus* —"

Porthos and Jason laugh *hard* —

Aramis grins —

"Please do utterly scramble me whenever you'd like."

"I will!"

Athos hums. "Thank you —"

"But you were saying?" 

"What do you know of the men closest to that — Laurent?" 

And that... Aramis smiles ruefully. "The names Kitos and Reynard were not... unfamiliar."

"Oh —" 

"Oh, my."

"They are his closest lieutenants, as near as I have been able to observe."

"No more than that?" And there is such need in Athos's voice — 

Aramis winces. "I do not know, my Athos. I have not been so close to the Captain on that sphere —" Not his, not anymore. "He is a private man."

"Yes. Yes, of course..." 

"I... That Kitos and Reynard are *definitely* lovers, however." 

Athos brightens. "Good. *Good*. Thank you, Aramis," Athos says, fervent and not at all perfunctory.

Aramis holds it to himself — no. He *lets* it make him flush, and shiver. 

His mother — this *woman*, if she is *anything* like his mother, at all, and he already knows that she *is* — would be suspicious of all attempts to hide himself. 

She will be suspicious *anyway*, but —

He will not make this any more difficult for *her* than it must be.

The way Porthos strokes him isn't subtle, at all.

Aramis does not care.

Aramis —

Madame Margaud's is right there, and a boy he could've been is sitting on the steps with women and girls Aramis doesn't recognize. Not one of them —

But the other Aramis is laughing and flirting —

Holding *court* —

*Advertising* —

There is no book in his hand — he must be finished with his studies for the day — and he is *entirely* aware of the attention of the four men moving toward *his* brothel.

He is pleased — and pleased to be so openly, obviously pleasing.

He laughs and blows them a *kiss* —

"Right, so we're definitely avoiding the miniature incubus over there, right?" 

"*Porthos* —" 

"Please, yes —"

"Athos —" 

"We are *definitely* avoiding him, and not only for the sake of Porthos's and Athos's peace of mind." 

Oh — true. But — "Not yours, Teacher?" 

"My peace of mind has *always* been improved by inquisitive and acquisitive and *affectionate* young people, Aramis," Jason says, and the smile in his voice is *hungry*.

"Oi! No wonder his mother didn't trust you as far as she could throw you." 

"To be fair —" 

"There were many reasons why she didn't trust you, Jason?" And Athos is amused —

"Precisely."

And then they're in front of the steps —

"What are you boys looking for, mm?" And the Aramis he might've been has pulled on the airs of a madame delighted with her stock, her life, and her place in the world. "Madame Margaud's is a place of wonders and beauty!"

"Oh, tone it *down*, Julián," one of the other women says, and gives Aramis a gentle push. "You have to forgive him, he ate four pastries today —"

"And this has only made me a fount of honeyed delights — *mmph* —" 

One of the girls — a burly young woman who can be no more than fourteen — wrestles Aramis into submission while he giggles — 

"*Thank* you, Claire," the first woman says. "I'm Elisanne. *Do* you boys know what you're looking for, or would you like to get a good look at everyone? This early, you pretty much get your pick."

Aramis can't help stealing one more glance at the *other* Aramis — 

"Put those hopes away, friend. He's *not* for sale tonight. His Mum's the secretary and she decides when and if he can peddle it." 

Aramis coughs —

Porthos clears his throat —

And Jason moves up beside them — "That is only as it should be, Mademoiselle Elisanne. But... the secretary, you said? Would that be Mademoiselle Claudette d'Herblay?"

Elisanne gives them a suspicious look. "Yeah. She doesn't take many clients herself these days."

"We only wish to speak with her — about a matter of some import. We will pay well for the privilege." 

The women, girls, and the other Aramis share a long look. 

He has been studying them. 

He has been using his power crudely, *dangerously* — but still effectively enough. 

He nods and disentangles himself from Claire. "I will inform Mother that she has guests. Let them in." And then he disappears into the house. 

Elisanne narrows her sharp grey eyes at them. "Don't think this means we trust you. Claudette told us there was a Brit sniffing around Julián, and damned if his looks didn't sound like yours," she says, and jerks her chin at Jason. "You may have brought friends this time, but you're still on *our* turf." 

Jason inclines his head — "I mean *no* harm, and I hope to prove it with this visit, Mademoiselle."

Elisanne grunts instead of saying anything else, and then the women and girls proceed to make a gauntlet for them to pass through. 

Aramis nods respectfully as he goes and tries not to mourn for the continued suspicion. 

He does not belong in this place. He is, at best, only a client. 

The brothels on his sphere he has served by taking various assignments are — not here. 

Those people do not know *these* people. 

His reputation does not —

It does not serve him, here, no matter how much he would like it to.

He had not truly thought about how *much* those particular assignments had been taken to ease his need to —

To reach back into his own past and *touch*, however lightly, the person he used to be. 

The person who moved freely and happily and warmly and —

And Porthos is touching him again, squeezing the nape of his neck in front of all of these *strangers* — 

But Porthos knows that his Aramis is in need. 

Porthos knows that his Aramis is hurting — 

(Your Porthos never wants you to be alone, love...)

Aramis takes a deep breath —

And another —

And *another* — 

And remembers that he may be in front of strangers who wish him ill, but he's still at *a* Madame Margaud's. 

He is Aramis, and he is surrounded with love and warmth. 

He...

He has the chance to show that to *a* Claudette d'Herblay, and for that he can be grateful, and calm, and ready. 

For that, he can be himself. 

... or as much of that person as he remembers being in the years before he covered himself with armor and turned away from — everything. 

Everything that smacked of entanglements. 

(Some part of you remembered what you really needed, love.) 

This is so. 

(Some part of you...) Porthos growls. (I'll never let you be alone again. Not ever.) 

Aramis smiles. I may wish to use a chamberpot — 

(Nope, you're going to have supervision for that —) 

Aramis coughs — 

Porthos whacks him on the *back* —

(Brother, I am even more eager to discuss your predilections and fixations with you.) 

*Porthos* coughs — 

*Jason* whacks *him* on the back — 

And Athos — snorts again. "I took far too much pleasure in that." 

"Oh, no, my Athos, I believe you took just *enough* pleasure in —" 

"Shh," Jason says — 

And, when Aramis looks up, his younger self is there again. Watching *him* narrowly. 

Closely. 

"Who are you. Truly." 

Shit — 

"I'm afraid we must give those answers to your mother first, Julián," Jason says smoothly. 

The younger Aramis reaches for them with his power — 

Studies them *forcefully* — 

"*That* one is hiding information," he says, at last. 

"But you can see that he isn't hiding any information that would do you or your loved ones any harm, can you not?" And Jason raises an eyebrow.

The younger Aramis glares, eyes *flashing* gold — 

He does not bother to hide himself from *anyone* in this parlor! And...

There are many, many hands creeping towards hidden weapons. 

These people trust their 'Julián' — even though he has not given them his true name — and know that he will not lead them astray... 

Aramis licks his lips and steps forward. Only one step. "Julián. I am hiding my true identity from you, because it is dangerous for you to know — without your *mother* explaining it to you as only she can." 

"What does that mean!" 

"It means that you must cleave to her. It means that you must follow her advice and guidance in all things —" 

The other Aramis makes a scoffing noise — "I already do this thing!" 

"*More* than you do, Julián. It is a matter of life and death," Aramis says, letting the honesty in his voice be bald and *raw*. "Many deaths." 

Aramis rears back — "I —" 

"Enough. That one will *not* give you more of what you want, tricky boy," *she* says — 

His mother — 

*Maman* — 

And she looks just as Aramis remembers as she walks into the parlor behind her son, only more beautiful, more fierce, more knowing, more *everything* — 

How could he have *forgotten*?" 

She is *everything* — 

(Steady, Aramis...) 

Teacher — 

(Wait until she allows us —) 

"You may all come with me to my office now," she says, and pretends to barely spare them all a glance. 

Aramis knows she has used her son's eyes to *truly* see them. 

She...

She has more *witchcraft* than his own mother had had. She — 

"No, tricky boy, *you* will stay here." 

"But Maman —" 

His mother — *Claudette* — laughs then, low and rich and throaty, and *grips* the other Aramis by the hair. "We both know you only call me this when you want something." 

"I —" 

"Go. Lounge attractively on the divan. Practice looking *desirably* fatigued, as if one more act of love will leave you spent and pliant and biddable." 

"Oh! I... hm." 

"Yes, *think* about it, tricky boy. Liliane has perfected this — you will study her before you begin." 

"Yes, Mother!"

Claudette gazes down at the other Aramis almost *covetously*... and then she tugs his hair firmly one more time before releasing him. 

He runs deeper into the parlor. 

Claudette raises an eyebrow at them. "Follow me, please, gentlemen." 

They incline their heads and murmur their thanks — and when they pass into the hall, the two large and exquisitely well-trained ex-Army guards flanking the door look them over from their shadows and stroke their weapons. 

They will not be allowed to see the other guards — unless they do something foolish. 

And...

Claudette's office is in the same place. 

Claudette's office is precisely as neat, as well-organized — 

The scents make Aramis's *soul* ache — 

And Claudette is behind the desk — and closest to the bell-pull that will bring the guards down on them. She looks to Jason first. "I told you not to come back." 

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but it was — *is* — even more important that you take my warnings —" 

She holds up a hand and turns to Aramis. "Drop your glamour." 

Aramis shivers — and obeys.

She jerks back in shock — but doesn't recoil. Instead, she studies him with her own power. She is weaker than her son, but more deft, more skilled. 

As subtle as a *blade*, and — 

And she swallows. "You're him. You're the... Aramis Blood was telling me about. The one who suffered under his father's care." 

"He is not —" 

Claudette raises her hand again. "Let *him* talk, Blood." 

"As you say, Mademoiselle."

And then she turns her dissecting blue eyes on Aramis again.

Aramis nods. "I am *one* of the Aramises who was abused by... that man, Mademoiselle. The Aramis he was telling you about was killed." 

She inhales sharply. "How." 

"I do not know the entirety of the story, Mademoiselle, but he was a Musketeer, and he was protecting the child of a Duc from kidnappers. His comrades —" And he gestures to Athos and Porthos — "— arrived too late to save him."

She shudders — 

Her hands are *claws* — 

Aramis wants to *hold* her — 

To *touch* — 

"Mo— Mademoiselle —" 

She blinks — and takes a deep breath, flattening her hands on the desk. "Aramis. I am not your mother." 

Aramis winces helplessly. "I know this thing. But... there are reflexes inherent to being in this place, and seeing you." 

"You have warned other Claudettes?" 

"You are the first. Jason only just retrieved me from my own sphere —" 

"After his own Aramis had — died." She frowns for long moments —

Shakes her head — 

"Are you saying that protecting him from his father could protect his life so many years in the future?"

"I do not know this thing. There are too many things which can change, Mademoiselle. But... we *all* know that he could have lived with more *happiness* than he did."

He can see Porthos and Athos nodding out of the corner of his eye — 

Jason is remaining still, a step back from the rest of them — 

"My son —" Claudette shows her *teeth* for a moment — 

Shakes her head again — 

Looks down at the desk — and visibly struggles to regain control of herself. 

Watching without touching is the hardest thing — 

The most *cruel* — 

"Mademoiselle... if there is anything I can —"

"Aramis," she says, and her voice is low and hard as she looks up. "Tell me *exactly* what your mother told you about your father before... before." 

"Yes, Mademoiselle," Aramis says. "She said that he was young. Fawning. *Adoring*. She said that he admired her grace, her sophistication, her *education*. She said that he *loved* her, and made many promises to return after he had educated himself enough to make himself *worth* her." 

"And she believed that?" 

"No, Mademoiselle. She never did. She used his words — and his absence — as an object lesson to teach me about the nature of young love." 

Claudette nods in approval. "And when he did return?" 

"He demanded that she surrender me to him. He threatened her with violence, the way he never had before. He threatened the Madame with the friends he had made in the clergy and the — country — gentry. I was witness to much of this. He wanted me to see his *power*," Aramis says, and narrows his eyes. "My mother had less magic than you do. Much less. And when she realized that her choices were running with me — and possibly causing us both to starve on the streets — or sending me with my father, who had been careful never to threaten me..." Aramis spreads his hands.

Claudette breathes deeply. "And this is how you came to be an assassin, Aramis?" 

He stiffens — 

"Did you think I wouldn't see it on you? In the way you move and breathe? In the way you could not even come to see the woman who could've been your *mother* without *covering* yourself with *weapons*?" 

"I... am usually more circumspect, Mademoiselle." 

She raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis coughs into his fist, feeling approximately twelve years old and *caught*. 

(It's adorable, love.) 

Aramis blushes — 

"And *that* was for?"

"Ah. Porthos is using the binding between us to tell me that I am adorable when I am fidgeting before the woman who could've been my mother." 

Claudette turns to Porthos unerringly, even though they have not introduced him or Athos — "What sort of man are you?" 

"Loyal —" 

"You use that word even though you have replaced the Aramis who was your brother with a new one already?"

Aramis *strangles* on the noise that wants to come out of his throat — 

Athos is *flushed* — 

Jason is *smiling* — 

But Porthos *grips* Aramis's shoulder and leans in. "Mademoiselle. Aramis could never be a replacement, and the Aramis we lost could never be *replaced*. I'll always be in love with both of them. *We* will always be in love with both of them. And we've all learned — the hard way — to share information like that before it's too late." 

Claudette nods slowly. "Tell me more about the sort of man you are." 

"I'm a family man, probably more than anything else. I need family around me, and I'm more than a little lost without it. It was only me and my Mum when I was a boy, and she died when I was five, but she taught me how important family is. How a friend wasn't really a friend unless they were *also* your family. That's how I live. And, now that I'm growing into a shifter, I fully expect that need in me to get even stronger." 

"And Aramis is your... brother?" 

"Mademoiselle... I'm reasonably sure he's my mate." 

Athos nods —

Jason hums — 

Claudette smiles — and so does Aramis. He should've known, with all of himself, that Porthos would not fear that knowledge. 

(We have a long, long time to get to know everything about each other, love.) 

Aramis shivers — and smiles at the others. 

At his *pack* — minus Treville. 

Athos smiles at him so warmly — 

"Athos," Claudette says. "Is Aramis *your* brother?" 

"We have begun the process of making ourselves brothers, yes, Mademoiselle. Brothers, lovers, comrades-in-arms... and we are already pack, as I'm quite sure you're aware." 

She cocks her head to the side. "Are you nobility?" 

"Yes, Mademoiselle, though my line is dead on my sphere. I am the Comte de la Fère." 

She raises an eyebrow. "You keep curious company." 

"I never cease to be ennobled by the company I keep, Mademoiselle — which is one of the reasons why my line will almost certainly *remain* dead." 

She closes her eyes and smiles for a moment. When she opens them, she beckons Jason forward. 

Jason moves to stand before the desk immediately — 

"M'sieu Blood. What will you do if I — somehow — decide to *not* heed your warnings?" 

"Summarily murder every Julio/Jules Ortiz I can get my hands on. There is... too much pain. Too much death."

"Would it surprise you — any of you — that I had considered sending my Aramis to school?" 

"A *Jesuit* school? Mademoiselle —" 

She smiles wryly. "Just what other options are available to me, M'sieu Blood? He is a boy with a *brilliant* mind, and I cannot afford all the books and tutors he needs to keep that mind occupied. Additionally..." She gestures to Aramis. "All of us in this room know that *every* Aramis has a violent disposition. One day, he will kill someone who will be *missed*. Perhaps it will even be his father. He needs to be turned *away* from such things —" 

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle," Athos says. "I do not mean to interrupt you, but..." He shakes his head. "My brother Thomas and I spent most of our lives having our father do his level best to turn us away from our natural inclinations. It was utterly pointless, and I've come to believe that it was one of the factors that led to Thomas's murder." 

Claudette inhales sharply — and nods. "No, you are correct. I am more intelligent than this. But he must be taken away from the constant rush and bustle of city streets where violence is always a heartbeat *away*. He must learn to hone his passions until they are not so indiscriminate that they can wound — or kill — him as easily as they would his *targets*."

Aramis... shares a look with Porthos and Athos. It's the same blushing thrill as it was the first time — 

The same *confirmation* that he is not *alone* — 

(Never alone, love...) 

And Jason is clearing his throat. 

"Yes, M'sieu Blood? Did you have a suggestion?" 

"You were familiar with the name de la Fère —" 

"It would be the height of *folly* to be *unfamiliar* with powerful gentry —" 

"Powerful gentry... and the Captain of the King's Musketeers." 

She bares her teeth again. "The Musketeers could not keep my son alive —" She looks away. 

She breathes. 

"They cannot help him with his magic," she says, to the desk. 

"They can," Jason says. "I already know that there's a Treville here — and Treville is Porthos's father by blood-magery." 

"There isn't a whore in France who doesn't know about Treville's appetite for young boys!" And Claudette *glares* at Jason. 

"I spoke to the Jason who *lives* on this sphere, more or less, and who is Treville's brother and lover —" 

"*And*?" 

"Treville has been mated — and married — to his Amina for almost as long as your Aramis has been alive, Mademoiselle. Not to mention the connections he's built among his *pack*." 

"What is your *point*?" 

"Those rumours are *old*." 

"Men do not change their *inclinations*." 

"Oh, agreed — for the most part. But Treville is an honourable man who would never harm a young person in his care, especially if said young person's mother insisted on *joining* him." 

Claudette blinks... and leans back in her chair. "You believe he would allow this." 

"Daddy's a family man, too, Mademoiselle," Porthos says. 

"Rather intensely so," Athos says, and huffs. 

"I believe, Mademoiselle," Aramis says, and smiles, "that if this Treville is even remotely like the one I have come to know —" 

"Oh, he *truly* is," Jason says. 

Aramis spreads his hands. "He would be *offended* if you tried to get *away*." 

Claudette looks at him — into him. 

Aramis does not even try to resist the urge to stand straighter — 

"Is he a worthwhile *teacher*." 

"Yes, Mademoiselle." 

"Would *I* think so." 

Aramis smiles wickedly. "In truth, Mademoiselle, you would choose Jason over Treville —" 

"I would *not* —" 

"But only because you would feel that Treville is too easy and gentle and *coddling* with me and my unruly ways. Jason is much more ruthless, like you." 

She looks at him. 

She looks at Jason — 

She looks at *him*. "*Tricky* boy —" 

Aramis blushes and coughs — "I — I..." 

Her expression softens. "You wanted this. You wanted to be a Musketeer, even when you were a boy." 

"Yes — Mademoiselle." 

She winces and nods. "Aramis... were you safe in the shadows? As an assassin?" 

"Safe enough, yes. Few of my rivals had as many weapons as *I* did — and do. Additionally, I am quite wealthy. I chose my assignments." 

She swallows. "You were lonely. You were... cold." 

"I was empty, Mademoiselle. I had... nothing, after I lost my teacher. On my sphere, *she* took revenge on my father for everything he had done to me — including sending me away to the Jesuit schools. I found my way back to her, and we had a little time before she died. I left... pathways for her spirit, to all of my boltholes." 

"And your home?" 

Aramis smiles wryly. "I had no home, Mademoiselle. Until very, very recently. My father, the priests, the assassins... they took that from me." 

Porthos cups the back of his neck —

And Claudette is — hurt. So hurt. 

"Mademoiselle —" 

"Tell the other Claudettes this, Aramis. Tell them you were *broken*. Because the boy out there —" 

"Can make a home for himself anywhere, yes. I look at him, and I remember. I remember what *you* taught me, Mademoiselle, at long last." 

She growls. "I will not let him go. Not *ever*."

Aramis and Jason incline their heads — 

Porthos and Athos nod — and Porthos leans in. "Can we get you something? Anything?" 

Claudette looks them over — and focuses on Jason. "Tell me how to contact this sphere's Treville *most* effectively." 

"If you'll allow me to do so, I'll have my other tell Treville that you wish to speak about the education of your son, and he will come to you here." 

Claudette raises an eyebrow — and nods. "Thank you. Thank you for... all of this." 

"You're quite welcome —" 

"What of the teacher he has when he's in that man's clutches?" 

Jason smiles. "I've already spoken to her, Mademoiselle. Her name is Josette, and she'll *greatly* miss her garden, but she'll be ready to travel to Paris whenever she's called. By the *All*-Mother." 

Aramis grins. "*She* is quite ruthless, *too*, Mademoiselle." 

Claudette hums and stands in a swirl of musk and silks — 

Moves around the desk to cup Aramis's face — 

Tugs his face down so that she can look into his *eyes* — 

And then she nods once and *grips* him by the hair before kissing his mouth. 

Aramis shivers and *wants* — 

But she's already turned to Porthos. "You will help my tricky boy find all his tricks again?" 

"That I will, Mademoiselle. We'll *all* put our backs into it." 

"We need his happiness," Athos says, quietly. 

"We need all of him," Jason says, and they all nod, including Claudette. 

She looks at him again — 

Shivers —

And opens her arms.

"Mademoiselle, are you —" 

"You will not make me *wait*, tricky boy."

Aramis hears himself make a terrible noise, and then he's clutching Claudette, holding her too tightly, too — 

And she is stroking him, stroking over all of his weapons and nodding in approval, and telling him, in Caló, to keep them sharp, to keep them close, close as his new family —

And. 

All he can do is weep.


	28. Dig two graves.

When Treville finally gets home, Alaire informs him that his sons and 'the British gentleman' are all waiting for him in the study. Alaire actually *likes* Jason — old soldiers tend to appreciate each other when they're not pillocks — but forgiving the man his Britishness is beyond him. 

It tickles Jason beyond words. 

And, to be fair, Treville, too. 

He needs that, after a day spent jockeying for position at the palace and struggling to keep the Musketeers as preeminent in the mind of Louis as they are in the minds of every fighting force they've gone up against — something far more difficult than it should be, damnit. 

When he'd finally gotten back to the garrison, there'd been work piled on his desk — *towering* on his desk — and he hadn't gotten out of the accursed little box until it was already *dark*. 

And he damned well misses his pack. 

Keeping Porthos and Athos away from the garrison had been necessary in the aftermath of losing Aramis — it was the only way his plans could ever *work* — but not having them close enough to sense in any way when he inspects the men —

Not having Aramis there to destroy all comers on the shooting range — but. 

That's not going to happen anymore.

This Aramis only *rarely* uses guns, and —

Treville pauses in the hall outside the study and breathes. 

Just breathes. 

And he's not the least bit surprised when Aramis comes out to join him, though — 

"Son? You've been weeping?" And Treville reaches up to stroke Aramis's face, to drag his thumb under one of those reddened eyes —

Aramis smiles ruefully. "Jason was entirely correct about a visit with a different Claudette d'Herblay being... difficult." 

Treville winces. "Oh, son, I'm so sorry..." 

"No — no. Do not think — she was not unkind. She was... herself. But she was and was *not* my mother, and I was and was *not* her son, and this was challenging for both of us." 

Treville nods and pulls Aramis in close. "Just the same." 

Aramis laughs softly. "I have spent the day being thoroughly cuddled..." 

"Best get used to it, son." 

Aramis snorts. "Treville." 

"Hmm. Shall we talk, instead, about how you came out here to comfort *me*?"

"*Yes*!" 

"Absolutely. But I'm going to keep holding you, if you don't mind." 

"I — will it comfort you?" 

"Very much so. You smell like salt, brandy, the entirety of my pack, *and* a very good brothel. I'm wallowing." 

Aramis laughs and kisses his *cheek* — 

Treville blinks — 

"I... no?" 

Treville growls and *licks* Aramis's cheek — 

"Oh —" 

"You surprised me, son. That's all." 

And Aramis is silent for long moments. "I... have remembered..." 

"Mm?" 

"I have remembered being affectionate. I *was* affectionate, when I was no one but my mother's son." 

"You want to turn the clock back a little." 

"Yes, Treville. I... in many ways — not all, but *many* — I was wiser then." 

"I understand. I was a wiser man with my Amina-love." 

Aramis nods and strokes Treville's back — 

And hugs him tighter — 

And kisses him again — "I spent *some* of the day shooting, Treville." 

Treville blinks.

"Jason took us to the range at your manor. Your stableboys do a very good job keeping the weapons clean and ready to use!" 

Treville rumbles a laugh. "Don't let them fool you — Ife's great-grand-nephews could hold off an *invasion*." 

"I — hm. How *many* of your employees could you say this about?" 

"A good ninety, ninety-nine percent." 

Aramis laughs and kisses him *again* — 

"Son —" 

"It *does* bother you when I kiss you." 

"No, I *love* your kisses. I want *more* of them —"

Aramis kisses him three times, deliberative and soft — 

Treville grunts. 

"I already knew you found me arousing..." 

"Son, don't —" 

"I am not ready to make love with you, and *that* is what is making you hesitate. Yes?" 

Treville blinks — pulls back enough to meet Aramis's eyes. 

Aramis is eyeing him steadily. 

Treville takes a breath. "In a word? Yes." 

"But it helps that I *know* that I'm not ready?" 

"Yes. But it's also a bit confusing." 

"I would like to... I would like to remember how to flirt *honestly*. How to..." Aramis frowns, as if the words aren't quite there for him. 

Treville strokes his hair, slow and firm. 

"I don't... want to be a boy." 

"No?" 

"No. Not all the time," Aramis says. "But I think I would like to be the man the boy I used to be should have grown *into*." 

Treville takes a deep breath — and nods. "Then let's all learn together what that means." 

Aramis licks his lips and studies him. "Yes?" 

Treville licks his cheeks and his mouth — 

"Ai —" 

"Yes." 

Aramis licks his lips and studies him for long moments — and then frowns.

"Son?" 

"Was that... flirting?" 

"Not that time," Treville says, and keeps stroking Aramis's hair. "There are times when I *do* flirt with that particular gesture, though." 

"Will you show me?" 

"Are you —" 

"I am certain." 

Treville nods, *grips* Aramis's hair firmly. "This is one difference." 

"Yes — I do the same!" 

Treville grins. "I've watched you with Porthos, son. Those curls are a *goad*, mm?" 

"Oh, I —" 

"Just a moment," Treville says, leaning in and *dragging* his tongue over Aramis's cheeks and mouth, just a little. 

Aramis moans — and steps back. 

Treville releases his hair immediately. "All right, son?" 

"I have seen your *passion* before, your *emotion*, but not your sensuality." Aramis smiles wryly. "You hide it well." 

Treville blinks — and thinks about that. "You haven't seen me *truly* making time with Jason since you've been here." 

"No. Athos and Porthos have mentioned it, but..." Aramis spreads his hands. "And it is more than that. You put the sensualist *away* when you do not wish him to be present, Treville." 

"I..." Treville thinks about *that* — 

Frowns — 

"You're right. I don't *mean* to — not with you — but you're absolutely right." 

"You meant to show me all of yourself from the beginning...?" And Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

"I did, son. I meant to be entirely honest with you." 

Aramis nods slowly. "And the reason you did not... the *Captain* hobbles you. *Gags* you." 

"The Captain puts me in a *dungeon*, son —" 

Aramis shudders and turns away —

"Son...?" 

"I have been... imprisoned..." 

Treville growls low and hard. "Who. When." 

"I. I have been waiting to tell this story until you were home, Treville. Waiting to tell... all of you." And Aramis turns back to face Treville with eyes that are a little too hollow. 

Treville reaches up to stroke his face, gentle and firm. "At your own pace, son." 

Aramis smiles wryly. "I do not feel rushed by anyone but myself, Treville." 

"Son —" 

"Please," Aramis says, and gestures to the door. "Let us join the others." 

Treville frowns. 

Aramis laughs. "You want to protect me. You want to care for me. For my *spirit*." 

"*Yes* —"

"Treville. Did you think I would not let you...?" 

Treville blinks — 

"As I said, I have spent the *day* being cuddled to insensibility by our pack. And I have *enjoyed* it," he says, and smiles ruefully. *Bemusedly*. "My Porthos, he says I have been starved of touch. He says that anyone who has gone as long without touch as I have would be... skin-hungry." 

"He's absolutely right." 

"Yes. He is," Aramis says, and studies Treville's hands. 

"Son?" 

"Perhaps... I will grow less hungry if I feel the loving touch of someone who wishes to be my father..." He frowns. 

"Aramis —" 

"Claudette, she made it clear that I was not her son. She did not want —" Aramis bares his teeth. "In the end, she gave me her affection, her — her *care*, but I cannot forget that first rejection." 

"Oh, son, no —" 

"There is much on my mind tonight, Treville," Aramis says, and smiles darkly. "Come. Please." 

Treville follows — 

And finds that his pack has arranged themselves on and around the *long* couch. Jason is at one arm, Porthos is at the other, and Athos is at Porthos's feet. The space at the middle of the couch is empty — until Aramis takes it without a moment's hesitation, resting his upper body against Porthos and his lower body *on* Jason.

Well. Treville *looks* at Jason. 

Jason gives him a bland look in response. 

"Comfortable, lover?" 

"Why, yes, thank you for asking," Jason says, and starts *petting* Aramis. 

And smiling. 

And petting more *firmly* —

More slowly —

More *luxuriantly* —

"You're an arsehole, lover." 

Porthos snickers — 

Athos hums — 

And Aramis flexes and stretches the leg Jason is petting. 

*Slowly*. 

Treville's hands twitch — "You're an arsehole, too, son." 

Athos *snorts* —

Treville blinks and stares — 

"Oh, I — I've been letting... more of those out," Athos says, and smiles ruefully. 

"He *has*, sir," Porthos says. "That was the seventh one today!" 

"You're *counting*?" 

"Uh... I could stop?" 

"Please stop." 

"Right. No more counting. Ever," Porthos says, and looks like a man faced with a true logistical nightmare. 

Athos — huffs. "You can count, brother." 

"Oh fuck, thank you —" 

"Just don't *tell* me —" 

"Not a word." 

Aramis smiles. "I will keep his plush lips occupied..." 

"Oh — hm. I could help with that," Athos says. 

"You *could*, brother," Porthos says, and presses his leg against Athos's side. "In fact, I daresay you *should*." 

Athos grins — 

Aramis kisses the corner of Porthos's mouth — 

And Jason is smiling at *him*. 

Knowing him happy in this moment. 

"Mon amant needed his pack..."

Treville grins and leans in to kiss Jason hard and deep and seriously — 

(A day spent at the palace and trapped in your office and you still give me the *man's* kisses...?) 

Every kiss, Treville says, biting Jason's lower lip and growling low — 

His musk rises immediately, just the way it should — 

And Treville licks into his mouth again, licks deep, lengthens his tongue — 

Jason groans — 

Sucks and *slurps* — 

Treville thickens in his breeches and growls, pulling back to lick Jason all over his face and throat. 

(Oh, *amant*...) 

*Mine*. 

(Yours,) Jason says, and they both know — they *all* know — that if Treville gets just a little harder for him, Jason will be *ready* for him. 

That the bond between them won't have it any other *way* — 

And Jason's eyes are... wild. Wicked. *Game*. 

For *anything*. 

Treville licks his lips. "I think," he says, and *doesn't* bite that mouth anymore — 

Pulls back and sits at *Jason's* feet — 

"I think it's time for Aramis to tell us a tale," Treville says and leans against the couch between Jason's legs. 

Jason laughs richly. "Yes, *do* tease me *bloody*," he says, and reaches down with one hand to stroke behind Treville's ear.

Treville rumbles. "We both know that it's always important for the younger man in a relationship to learn self-control and continence, lover —" 

Jason splutters — 

Athos coughs —

Aramis *looks* at him — 

And Porthos — "Is that what you told the kitchen boys, then?" 

Treville *snickers*. "Absolutely not. I told them that I was getting older and I needed to save my energies for —"

"Oh, you *arse* —"

"Jason, you truly should smack him for that," Athos says — 

"Aramis, love, *kick* him," Porthos says — 

Aramis kicks him. 

In the *head*. 

When the pretty colours go away, Treville notes that the rugs smell just a little bit *like* Aramis here. Mm. 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"Oh, get *up*," Jason says — 

"I haven't ruled out chewing on these rugs —" 

"Wait, how *much* do they smell like Aramis?" And Porthos is lifting his nose. 

"Just a little *here*, son, but there's a nice trail leading right... over..." 

"There, yeah. Uh. Hm." 

"Does my Porthos also wish to chew the rugs?" 

"A bit?" 

"More than he wishes to chew on me?" 

"Well, it's a whole different — sir, get up so Aramis can tell us his *story*." 

"And save you from Aramis's wrath, son?" 

"I..." 

Treville snickers and sits up, settling in between Jason's legs again — 

Jason *yanks* on a lock of his hair — 

Treville snickers *harder* — 

"*Arse*." 

"Yours, always," Treville says, and checks on his sons — 

Athos is studying Porthos's terror with amusement — 

Porthos is licking his lips and *sweating* — 

And Aramis's eyes are narrow and hot. 

Treville sighs happily. "Aramis. Son. I know you're probably close to skinning Porthos for implying that chewing on a rug could ever be as delightful as chewing on you —" 

Aramis growls — 

"Please remember that he is a *dog* —" 

"I *know* this thing —" 

"Please also remember that you never allow the scents of your various bodily fluids to age and grow complex on your body." 

"I." Aramis looks at *him*. 

Treville raises both eyebrows. 

"I... wash too much?"

"As an assassin, you had to be careful not to allow your scents to give you *away* on various assignments —" 

"*Yes* —" 

"And so you learned to wash yourself thoroughly, and avoid perfumes unless you were on an assignment where *not* wearing perfume would be suspicious..." 

"Yes, this — oh. I see..." And Aramis strokes Porthos's chest. 

Porthos takes a deep, relieved breath — 

"I will bathe less thoroughly." 

Porthos rumbles with obvious helplessness — 

And Treville grins. "Thank you *very* much for that, son, but... Porthos will still want to chew on the rugs you drip on. You just won't be *able* to let your scents age the way they will in the rugs without becoming offensive to absolutely everyone *except* for the dogs of your acquaintance." 

Aramis looks pained — 

Conflicted — 

*More* pained — and then he nods. "As you say," he says, and then licks Porthos. "I will forgive my Porthos's need to chew on the rugs." 

"Thank you, love —" 

"I will... find a middle *ground* when it comes to bathing. The unscented soaps here will make that easy enough." 

Treville inclines his head — 

"Of course," Jason says, and winds a finger in Treville's hair. "You could simply let Treville chew on all the rugs in question —" 

"*Oi* — uh. I mean..." 

Jason laughs evilly — 

Aramis kicks him — 

"*Oof* — oh, my. I much prefer my companions doing other things to me with their feet —" 

Athos huffs. "I've had that fantasy." 

They *all* look at him. 

Athos huffs twice more — "I overheard my *Uncle* Treville describing a tryst with a blacksmith's apprentice —" 

"Oh. Fernand. I..." Treville coughs. "I didn't realize..." 

"That Thomas and I were in the hall outside the open door?" Athos huffs again. "You were in the process of *seducing* Uncle Kitos with your words. I imagine his scents — and everything else about him — were distracting you."

"Well —" 

"No, I — wait," Aramis says, and frowns at Treville. 

"Mm? Yes, son?" 

"You remember all of your boys' names?" 

Treville blinks. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?" 

Jason laughs and pets both of them. "Mon amant liked nothing better than to have *conversations* with the young men on his lap —" 

"Or using their feet to manipulate his genitals, as the case may be," Athos says, and huffs — 

Treville blushes — "I — well. I liked it when I could... make little things better for them. When I could help with this or that." 

Athos and Porthos nod as if that makes perfect sense to them — 

(Of course it does, amant.) 

Aramis — looks at him. 

*Studies* him. 

He's not using his power, and he's keeping his own thoughts a little hidden —

"Oh — that is reflex," he says, and smiles ruefully. "I am only trying to imagine how I would have reacted to you had I met you when I was... young." 

Porthos licks Aramis's ear. "Judging by the Aramis we met today, love, you would've stabbed him with his own deviance a *lot*... and then maybe would've done other things with him." 

"I..." 

"I do believe he would have gone to his mother for, at the very least, *guidance*, brother." 

"On how best to handle the noble *arse* swaggering into the place?" Porthos nods judiciously. "Yeah, I can see it." 

"She trained me for *that* long before I was allowed to even *show* myself to the customers," Aramis says, and smiles ruefully, rubbing his socked foot against Jason's leg — and Treville's back. "But you both have a point. He would've been too affecting for me *not* to seek guidance from my mother," he says, and looks at Treville again. "If I'd had her." 

"Son —" 

"I... would like to tell my story now. How I came to be an assassin." 

They all hold him, gripping where they can reach — 

Aramis laughs softly. "It did not seem so... upsetting. Not at the time." 

"What did it seem like, Aramis...?" And Jason's voice is low and gentle, but still firm. 

"Freedom, Teacher. And the ability to take revenge on my enemies." 

Porthos squeezes Aramis tight. "Love..." 

Aramis turns and licks Porthos's cheek, then does it again more slowly. "My Porthos. My *pack*. I survived the beatings and rapes at the first school I was sent to in Épernay well enough. I was... ready to return to my father's village, and to Josette — the earth-mage who lived there and pretended to be no more than a hedge-witch. I learned much from her — much about how to protect myself, and how to *control* my powers and not get *caught*, among other things. 

"That was not to be. As I was packing my few belongings to return to my father's village, I was informed that my father had arranged for me to attend seminary." Aramis bares his teeth. "I... thought of running, then. Of simply using the chaos of all the departing students to disappear into the woods, after stealing some few useful supplies. 

"It would've been easy enough — thanks to Josette, my woodcraft was entirely adequate, though I was out of practice. I... 

"I do not know why I didn't — no. No. 

"That is not true," Aramis says, and growls. "A few months before that point, my father had forwarded letters from Madame Margaud. Two letters. One saying that my mother was dying, and asking him very politely if I could be sent to Paris to see her before she was gone, and one from several months later saying that she was dead." 

Porthos snarls — 

"Oh — Aramis —" 

Treville grips Aramis's leg — 

"You were grieving," Jason says.

"I was — I did not know where to go. I could not think of where to *take* myself —" 

"You were grieving," Jason says again. 

"I was *small* inside. I was — without the ability to run to my *mother*, I could think of nowhere to run —" 

"Son." 

"*What*." 

"You were grieving. You'd found out, in one of the worst possible ways, that your last chance to be with the most important person in your life — in your *world* — had been stolen from you —" 

"He knew I would've run! He knew I would've gone to her!" 

"He did," Jason says. "If he had any sort of mind, at all, he knew that you would've killed him in some difficult-to-discover way whether or *not* he tried to stop you from going, because *you* would've known that he would raise the alarm about your absence." 

"I." 

"Or did you *not* ever look at him with murder in your eyes...?" 

Aramis flushes. 

Jason inclines his head. "He held on to his control of you by a thread, and he *resented* that, and he took the opportunity to *punish* you for it." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. "One of the first lessons I learned from the assassins who took me in was to never let the target see their death *coming*. I did not learn that lesson quickly enough." 

"You were young, son. You were young, and passionate, and *wounded*. You have to know that none of us are going to let you beat yourself up for this," Treville says. 

Aramis looks at him steadily for long moments — 

And then Athos squeezes his thigh. "Aramis... our father taught me this lesson this morning. You would not treat a loved one as though they had failed in some fundamental, unforgivable way —" 

"I should have known —" 

"No, love, you shouldn't've. Your Mum taught and trained you up right, but the whole point is that even *she* wasn't prepared for what you would go through. If she had been —" 

"She. Would have made different choices," Aramis says, and pinches the bridge of his nose for long moments. 

He's tense — 

He smells *hurt* — 

And they're damned well all holding him again. 

"Yes. You are. I..." Aramis drops his hand and looks to all of them before focusing on Porthos and Athos. "I do not know if I can learn this lesson without... help." 

Porthos leans in and nips Aramis's ear — 

"Oh —" 

"Do you know what sort of help you're going to need, love...?" 

"I believe I can... guess," Athos says, and smiles at Aramis. "You want to be disciplined." 

"Yes." 

"Wait, what —" 

"I would like the opportunity to... make amends," Aramis says. 

"*Love* —" 

"I know you do not feel as though I have anything to make amends for, in this respect, my Porthos —" 

"You *don't* —" 

"But that is not the way it *feels*," Aramis says, quiet and firm. 

Porthos shuts his mouth, just the way he should. And then he strokes his Aramis and studies him — 

Sniffs him and *learns* him in *this* moment — 

Aramis leaves himself open for it — 

And Porthos nods. "You haven't had a real Master before. You haven't had a pack or — anything *like* this." 

"No, my Porthos. I do not think... no. I *know* I could not have thought about that part of my past properly, no matter *how* much punishment I received, if I continued to lack these things." 

Porthos nods again, more slowly. "You think you can now — if you have the *right* discipline." 

"I *know* my pack can teach me what I need to *learn*." 

Porthos growls and *grips* the back of Aramis's neck — 

Leans in to sniff him more — 

To taste the corners of his mouth — 

"Oh, my Porthos..." 

"Don't know if I *can* discipline you for this, love," Porthos says, and pulls back a little, smiling ruefully. 

"I understand this thing, my Porthos. You would feel like you were *hurting* the boy in me, and hurting him *unfairly*." 

Porthos inhales sharply — and nods. 

Aramis smiles wryly. "My Porthos has already taught me not to view such things as a failing in *myself* —" 

"They're bloody *not* —" 

"No," Aramis agrees. "And." He licks his lips and ducks his head — about as much as Porthos is allowing him to, by the looks of it.

"Love...?" 

"My Porthos..." Aramis licks his lips again. "My Porthos has suggested I might take *other* sorts of discipline from other members of the pack —" 

"Oh — *oh*. Bloody *yes*. Of *course*."

Aramis looks up. "Yes?" 

"*Yes*, love. I want — I know no one in this pack will hurt you in bad *ways*. I know no one in this pack will *punish* or *discipline* you in bad ways — even if they do it in ways I never could." 

And Aramis's heart is beating fast — 

His eyes are shining — 

"My Porthos... will always make certain that I have what I need?" 

"That's right, love. If I *know* you need something, then I'm *going* to make sure you have it. This —" Porthos smiles ruefully and shakes his head. "I wasn't trying to deny you the other members of our pack, love. I was just apologizing for not being able to give you this *myself*. I always want to take care of you." 

Aramis gives Porthos a queer look for that, dissecting and curious at once. 

"Mm?" 

"I am thinking... of the ways in which you dreamed of the Aramis you lost." 

"Oh... how so?" 

"When you dreamed of him being your little boy —" 

Athos coughs — 

Porthos whacks him on the back — 

"Thank... you —" 

"You're welcome, brother —" 

"I would like to be left out of as few of these conversations as possible," Athos says, and he's blinking rapidly. 

Jason grins with far more teeth than he should have — Treville can feel it. "I will *absolutely* share all of my *stickiest* dreams with you, Athos." 

"I —" 

"Do take him up on that, son," Treville says. "He can make you *experience* his dreams and fantasies as if they're truly happening." 

"Oh." Athos is still blinking. They can leave him to it, for now. 

"About Porthos's dreams, son?" 

Aramis *looks* at him and Jason — 

Jason winks — 

Treville tips the hat he isn't wearing — 

Aramis turns away from them with very clear malice aforethought. "My Porthos. You said you were taking a *parental* role in those fantasies." 

"I did, yeah — oh. Am I being caring in the wrong ways, love?" And Porthos lifts his nose. 

"You are not..." 

"No? Are you *sure* —" 

"You are not hurting me. You are making me feel warm and loved and safe and *contained*, as you always *do*." 

"*Good* —" 

"But I believe you are also..." Aramis frowns. "I do not think I have the words. Not *adequate* ones. You, and Treville, are both taking a *somewhat* parental role with me. Treville has been doing this since before we were *introduced* —" 

Treville coughs — 

"But you... I do not know if I can pinpoint when you began." 

Porthos winces. "Right. First, let me say that I'm *not* trying to make you be anyone you're not." 

"I know this thing. I would *feel* this thing." 

"Good. Search me all the bloody time if that would make it better, all right? I don't *mind*." 

"You... find this soothing. You have said this." 

"I have and I do. I... I think I maybe have reflexes built into me *somehow* for taking care of people in certain *ways*. I've never really *had* anyone who let me take care of them like this before. But... I had my dreams." 

"Your *extensive* dreams." 

"That's right, love. And I'm *still* not dragging up scripts or specific fantasies that I had with the Aramis we lost to use with you. You're not the same *people*. It doesn't *work*. But this... feels right." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully, and, after a moment, rests his head on Porthos's chest. 

Porthos rumbles — stops himself. "Love, are you —" 

"I am certain." 

"You *smell* like you're... testing things, a little." 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "All right, yes, this is more accurate. I... you have been cradling me in your arms nearly all day, my Porthos." 

"We don't *have* to —" 

"I want it. I *love* it. And now I am going to *think* about *why* I love it." 

"Right, then, think away," Porthos says, and strokes Aramis firmly. 

Warmly. 

Aramis shivers and closes his eyes. "I will also continue my tale," he says, and *keeps* his eyes closed for a long moment — 

Drags his shin against Treville's back and along Jason's leg — 

Reaches down to hold Athos's hand — 

And opens his eyes — and looks at nothing in this room. "I did not run away. I did not take the *horse* I was given and *ride* away. I went obediently to seminary, and this, I think, made the priest I was traveling with — Father Michel — very suspicious. I had been sent to him most often for 'discipline', after all, and his attentions did not cease on our journey. 

"When I *did* eventually take my vengeance on all the priests, I killed *him* very, very slowly. As slowly as I could," Aramis says, and bares his teeth again. "But... he was suspicious of my good behaviour, and, when we arrived at the seminary, he dragged me to the bishop in residence himself, and listed my many... crimes. 

"My heresies. My *disobedience*. My *disrespect*. He told everyone who would listen that I would require a great deal of watching and a great deal of brutal punishment to be kept in line, and, while I could see that not all of the priests *there* were entirely willing to accept Father Michel's brand of pedagogy... well. 

"I was who I was. And the Church is itself. Father Michel left to return to Épernay, I found no kindred spirits among my fellow students, I had no mother, and Josette's lessons were increasingly far away. 

"I grew reckless. *Careless*. When the priests were actually intelligent enough to have read their bibles and teach lessons that were more or less in line with them? I was disrespectful in other ways. When my fellow students found me beautiful? I seduced. When the punishments I suffered made me grow angry? I used my power in increasingly unsubtle ways. I was not *caught* doing so — not red-handed — but I was suspected. 

"Of course that was enough. 

"I was thrown in the dungeon while the priests discussed what was to be done with me. And there, in that cold, stinking cell, I realized two things. One, that I wanted to live, and two, that I had been acting as though I wanted nothing of the kind. So. I resolved to change my behaviour. 

"I prayed. I used my knowledge of the bible — and of the various priests' favourite parts of the bible — to make my prayers more affecting. 

"I spent my entire imprisonment on my knees. 

"I fasted — refusing even the meagre meals they offered me. I drank the water — shuffling on my knees to take it — and I prayed more. 

"And more. 

"And more. I did *not* pray for deliverance. I prayed for forgiveness for my sins. Mea culpa. Mea *maxima* culpa. I had the Church doctrine behind me. I knew what to say. What to *do*. Still, I had lost much weight, and begun to develop sores and have strange visions before they let me out." 

"Fuck — oh, love —" 

"All is well, my Porthos. Not one of those men are alive today," Aramis says, and kisses Porthos's chest. 

"*I* want to have killed them!" 

"And take my pleasure? My satisfaction? You are a cruel Master, my Porthos..." 

"Uh..." 

Aramis laughs quietly again and kisses Porthos three more times. "We will go to other spheres, and we will murder other priests. We will free *every* Aramis. Will we not, Teacher?" 

"I always did like to keep busy..." 

Athos hums. "We don't get nearly enough opportunities to brutalize clergy on this sphere." 

Treville sighs sadly. "It's a hard life." 

"Bite your tongue, amant. I take you cleric-hunting *weekly*." 

His sons blink at him. 

Treville rubs at his moustache. "It's a highly therapeutic activity, boys. Especially since we already knew about the troubles the Aramis we lost had with the Church." 

"Treville..." 

"Yes, son?" 

Aramis licks his lips. "I... no, I do not have to ask. You have freed other Aramises. You and Teacher." 

"We have. I tend to glamour myself while we're wreaking havoc in the schools in question, and then... well. You're the first spirit-mage Aramis I've come across. The Aramises we've met tend to be surprised when I drop my glamour. And then have a *large* number of questions. We answer them and take them back to their mothers, if they're still alive. We connect them with Trevilles if there are any available. If not... Kitoses. Reynards. Laurents. We do what we can." 

Aramis shivers. "Thank you." 

"Son, you *never* have to —" 

"I do. I *do*. Please let me." 

Treville swallows and nods. "Then you're welcome, son."

Jason inclines his head. "Yes, Aramis. You're *very* welcome." 

"Sir..." And Porthos's voice is low and more than a little hesitant. 

Treville knows what he wants to ask. "Twice, son. We've managed to save you and your mother twice. We warn her about what happens, we tell both her and the other Treville about communicating with the All-Mother — all of it. On other spheres, Jason and I manage to get to you before you lose so *many* of your friends in the Court of Miracles." 

"You — you help the other kids?" 

"We do, son. You know there's always a need for people in a manor — or at the garrison." 

Porthos shudders. "Fuck. You really — all this and you *still* weren't honest with us?" 

Treville smiles wryly up at Jason. 

"I *told* you so, amant." 

"So you did," Treville says, and turns back to Porthos. "I... part of me was using it to *keep* myself from being honest with the three of you." 

"What — *what*?" 

"If I could be honest with the Porthoses and Aramises and Athoses — and everyone else — on all those other spheres, then I didn't *have* to do it here. I could keep... protecting you boys from myself. 'Protecting'." 

"*Sir* —" 

"I know better now, son. I promise." 

And Porthos *and* Athos are studying him for that — 

But Aramis is only *looking* at him. "He means this thing. He has learned." 

"I — fuck. I can't help wanting to turn back *time*. Even as I want nothing of the kind," Porthos says, and drags a hand over his face. 

Aramis studies *Porthos* — 

"I know you have to look me over for that, love," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. "I wouldn't give you up for anything. Not for *anything*. But — the wasted time *sits* on me." 

"My Porthos never wastes time..."

"Not when it comes to emotional things —" 

Athos huffs.

"Oi —" 

"I'm not *disagreeing* with you by any stretch of the *imagination*, brother," Athos says, and huffs again before turning to Aramis. "If there is *any* emotional disturbance of *any* sort between Porthos and another person, Porthos will stop *everything* in order to solve that disturbance as soon as *possible*. No matter how many times the other person asks to change the subject. No matter how many times the other person *begs* to change the subject." 

"Oh. Well. Yeah."

Aramis blinks. "I..." 

Porthos strokes him. "All right, love?" 

"My Porthos will never make me wait. My Porthos... will never make me stew in indecision." 

"Bloody *no*."

"This is well," Aramis says, and *looks* at *him* — and Jason. 

Jason laughs richly. "Your point is made, Aramis. *Isn't* it, amant?" 

Treville hums. "It most certainly is, lover."

Aramis nods and lies back down on Porthos's chest. 

Porthos rumbles —

Aramis kisses Porthos repeatedly — and then says, "I did not stay long, after the priests released me." 

"No, love? Didn't you have to *recover*?" 

"I did. I was weak, sick... my teeth had started to grow loose in my mouth..." 

"Bloody *hell*, son —" 

"I still didn't wait. I could feel the restlessness and *rage* grow in me as the *health* grew in me. I knew I would not be able to hold to my resolve if I stayed in that place. I knew that I would do something reckless — probably *many* reckless things. So. 

"As soon as I was no longer being watched, I stole supplies from the kitchens and sheds, including: a cloak; two wool blankets; and a good, sturdy work-knife. I set out. I knew I wasn't strong enough to travel by the forest trails, but I didn't want to be caught on the road. I took to the trails anyway, planning to change to the roads when I had gotten several miles away. I knew it would take time. 

"Happily, I had plenty of cheese and bread, and there was a good stream to dunk the bread in when it got too hard. I was well. 

"I was well. 

"Until the night I woke up to the feel of my knife bouncing out of my hand — someone had crept up on me as I slept, even hidden with no fire, and instead of managing to stab them, they had grabbed my wrist and slammed my hand against the ground. 

"And then I felt their hot breath against my face. I smelled good wine. And I felt *power*. I didn't know it at the time, but the man — the *assassin* — who had snuck up on me was a shadow-mage of some middling power." 

"He'd felt *your* power," Jason says. 

"Just so. He told me, after releasing me and taking my weapon and other supplies — ensuring I wouldn't run — that there were rumours of a witch free in the area. He told me he took such rumours to *heart*. He told me that I was being *hunted* — and that he wanted to know why. 

"I asked him if he planned to kill me if I didn't tell him. 

"He said he hadn't decided. 

"I said, before I could think, that indecisiveness was a character failing —" 

Athos coughs — 

Porthos snorts — 

Jason grins — 

And Treville shakes his head. "My boy. Always." 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "The man laughed and introduced himself as Aimable, and then *asked* me why I was being hunted. This...

"It had been a long time since an adult had *asked* me for anything. Had treated me as though I were *worth* asking for anything. So I searched him with my power — and Aimable laughed again. 'Is that why?'

"I realized he could *tell* I was using my power, and I *remembered* the power I'd smelled on him. I nodded. He said that was well enough, for what it was, but it would be inconvenient if I was not careful. He said that if I kept on the way I was, I would wind up burnt at the stake in some squalid town square. He said... many things. 

"And then he asked me if I would like to learn how to hunt the people who hunted *me*." 

Treville takes a deep breath. "And that's how they got you." 

"After some negotiation, Treville. I thought, at the time, that I'd had my fill of teachers. Aimable pointed out that I'd had my fill of *bad* teachers who had nothing of use *to* teach. I demanded that he *prove* to me that he had *anything* of use to teach... and he taught me, in just over an hour, *several* basic glamouring techniques." 

Treville blinks — 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Impressive." 

"Glamour was Aimable's true gift. If he had not had a weakness for appearing as himself in the brothels he frequented, he would still be *alive*." 

Porthos frowns. "You lost him, too." 

"Not before he betrayed me, my Porthos. *I* killed him." 

They all wince for that — except for Aramis, who smiles ruefully. 

"We were... friendly *enough*, for a time. He taught me much. He helped me build a client-base. And, when I took my vengeance on the priests, I used many of the lessons he taught me about how to increase pain without *decreasing* subtlety.

"And I... I went back to Josette. I felt her *call* me. I felt her *tug* me. I did not know she could do that! I had not known she was still *alive*.

"She was very, very old, and close to death, but she held on for far longer than either one of us thought she could, just so she could teach me everything she could *think* of. As I told Porthos, she had taken vengeance against my father *for* me, calling the wolves of the forests to tear him *apart*, and —" Aramis swallows. "There were ashes in my heart. 

"I had murdered many fathers by then, after all.

"I still spat in the hole I made for his gnawed bones." 

They squeeze Aramis *hard* — 

And Aramis sighs. "When Josette died, I returned to Paris, and the name I was making for myself in rumours and whispers. I thought about *leaving* those rumours and whispers behind, about becoming a soldier as I had always dreamed..." 

"But then you imagined your interview with Laurent de la Fère," Jason says. 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "I had made a study of him, of course. Both of what the *stupid* people said of him and of what the more intelligent people said. I knew he would see through me in an eyeblink. I knew he would see me for what I was. A witch. A catamite. A murderer of priests and parents and everyone worth the coin —" 

"*Love* —" 

"I lived my life, and I tried not to dream." 

Porthos snarls and — he has to be squeezing the breath out of Aramis —

He's not doing anything they don't all *want* to do. 

(I dream now, my pack...) 

Porthos grunts — 

Athos and Treville *grip* Aramis's leg — 

And Jason strokes Aramis. "What do you dream?" 

(My Teacher... I dream of a life where I am not alone, where dreaming such things is not foolish, not ridiculous, not *dangerous*. I dream of a life where I am loved, and cherished, and valued. Somehow. I dream of this life. Every moment of it.) 

Treville's eyes are wet, and that's just fine, because so are Jason's. 

"I — oh, Aramis, you're going to want to *try* to avoid making Porthos crush your *ribs* with that hug," Jason says, and laughs quietly. 

"I've always felt that bruises make things more meaningful," Athos says. 

Treville sighs happily. He has the best pack.


	29. Walking new paths.

Dinner *looked* like it was going to be reasonably uneventful — except that Aramis had broken away from Porthos with a lick to his beard and is now sitting between Athos and Jason. 

Porthos's heart has been pounding ever since, and the smile on his face *has* to be more than a little *maniacal* — 

"It suits you, brother," Athos says, and twirls his bloody *fork* — 

"Oh, yeah, eh? What about *your* maniacal smile?" 

"It *absolutely* suits him," Treville says. "He used to look just that way when he was plotting the absolute slaughter of enemy armies." 

Athos blinks. "I... did?" 

"You'd herd the Spanish host into the low, boggy ground — or wherever you'd chosen for your ambush —" 

"I —" 

"You'd pack them in cheek-by-jowl so the infantry would have no room to maneuver and the cavalry would be utterly fouled —" 

"In my defense, I always made certain that there'd be good *reasons* for the enemy command to fall for my traps —" 

"We watched those campaigns of yours *avidly*, son. You remember us nudging you, here and there, when you were making a dangerous mistake, don't you?" 

"Oh. I — yes." And Athos blushes. 

Porthos grins. "They didn't nudge you nearly as much as you think they *should* have, now that you're putting some thought into it." 

Athos smiles wryly — and then turns to Treville. "I would've appreciated more lessons."

"You soaked up Laurent's lectures on military theory and tactics like a sponge. You wouldn't *let* the rest of us teach you other things unless we'd already spent a goodly portion of time teaching you *that*." 

"I..." 

Treville grins. "And you grinned like a *madman* when it was time to spring your trap and destroy the flower of Spanish youth." 

Athos licks his lips. "I did sometimes also wage war against —" 

"The British...?" And Jason looks *supremely* interested. 

"Hm. Perhaps I didn't think that conversational gambit through." 

Aramis laughs delightedly. "My Athos will teach me *all* of this." 

"Oh. Yes?" And Athos is smiling *hopefully*. 

"I must learn, if I am to be a *good* soldier." 

Treville rumbles. "I'd be stunned if Athos has forgotten a word of Laurent's lectures." 

"I — I remember yours, *too*, sir." 

Treville grins. "Good. Because *I* remember *my* father's." 

Aramis looks to Treville excitedly. "All know of your father on my sphere. All know of his *prowess*." 

Treville ducks his head and smiles. "He was a wonderful, kind, generous, loving, brilliant, *giant* of a man who never stopped working, never stopped fighting, never stopped doing everything he *could* to modernize and improve the French military as a whole — both for the sake of the country and the sake of the people on the *ground*." Treville turns to Athos. "You won't always get decent commanders under you, son, but, when you do? Look to your father and mine, and everything they did to make sure men weren't promoted *solely* because of their rank." 

Jason clears his throat. Pointedly.

Treville blushes — 

And Aramis grins. "I believe Teacher would have us all look to *you*, as well, Treville." 

Porthos snorts. "We've *seen* him at the palaces, Aramis." 

Athos hums. "He fights for us — and the regular Army, as well —" 

"Of bloody course I do —" 

"He's made an ally of the Queen," Porthos says. "*She* fights for us now — and the word is that she's gotten a lot of other nobles on our side." 

"Indeed —" 

"I —" 

"Shut it and take your accolades like a man, amant," Jason says, and swirls his wine in his glass. 

Treville frowns — and looks to Athos. "My father — and your parents — taught me how to be a decent courtier, as much as they were able —" 

"So you've said, sir," Athos says, and smiles. "I think you've rather run with it." 

Treville blinks. 

Porthos claps Treville on the shoulder. "Not to worry, sir. We'll let you be modest about something soon enough." 

"I —" 

"Or smack him?" And Jason has his eyebrows up. 

"Or that, yeah," Porthos says, and nods judiciously. 

Treville laughs hard — and calls for their meal. 

It's another one of his Mum's meals, and Treville studies him a little when the maid sets it in front of him. 

Porthos's heart hurts, but — it's good. It's good. He smiles at Treville. "I'll punch you for depriving me of *this* another time." 

"Noted, son." 

They eat. 

Jason only eats the meat again — they only *served* him the meat again — and he finishes first, sipping his wine and clearly enjoying just being with them. 

"Mais bien sûr, Porthos," Jason says, and toasts him. 

Porthos swallows and grins, jerking his chin at Jason. "Why do you only eat meat?" 

"Because I didn't get *nearly* enough meat when I was on the march with Arthur's host — which I was from the time I was nine until the time I was twenty-one. Every knight got *some* meat — which was more than could be said for our infantry when supply lines were stretched to the breaking point as we struggled to keep the alliance of all the petty kingdoms from falling apart — but..."

Athos winces. "And when you say you were all given *some* meat..." 

"A few shreds in our oats. Fat if we were *very* lucky, or, if you were me, could heal the Cook's various ailments well *enough*." 

Aramis looks stricken — 

Athos winces — 

Porthos nods. "Right, I'd eat all the meat I could get my hands on now if I were you, too. One of the things working for Yejide got me — well, there was food for me and mine, and meat reasonably often once I started helping with her undead problems." 

Aramis's gaze is *murderous* again — 

"And I know *exactly* how you feel about that, love, and I promise that I'm thinking hard about it," Porthos says. "I promise..." He smiles ruefully. "I'm thinking about what I'd say to another young man in a similar situation." 

Aramis takes a deep breath — and nods and sips his wine. "My Porthos is good to his Aramis always." 

"My Aramis knows exactly how to make his Porthos *smarter*." 

Aramis smiles into his wineglass, and colours just a little. 

Treville laughs softly and sips his own wine. "Neither of you boys have been on a *truly* long campaign. Not one where the supply lines were in any danger." 

Athos takes a sip of his — *heavily*-watered — wine. "Father spoke *repeatedly* about the necessity of guarding the supply lines. It always made perfect sense." 

"Mm. I'll tell you what he might not have said, son," Treville says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. 

They're *all* paying close attention to this — 

Aramis is leaning *in* — 

And Treville smiles at him and winks before saying, "*When* you get the chance to organize a campaign of your own, Athos, you're going to reach a point where you think your supply train is more than secure enough. You'll have remembered everything we told you about the *many* dangers and *unexpected* fuck-ups that can happen to a military force's supply train, and you're going to plan for it so well — well, I know you. I know how you organize a campaign. There *will* be overlapping fail-safes, all designed to keep your soldiers fed, your horses shod, your swords oiled, your guns supplied with shot — everything." 

Athos nods once. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "There *will* be a campaign in your lifetime where that won't be enough. It just won't." 

"I —" 

"Maybe you'll have to pull men and materiel off the rear and bring them to the front. Maybe the countryside will rise up against you in *force*. Maybe the weather will be too much for the wagons, despite all predictions to the contrary from the *most* successful farmers and hedge-witches you can scrounge up. You don't know. You *can't* know. Sometimes? You *will* wind up in the low, boggy ground. Soldiering, in the end, comes down to a roll of the bones. A good commander will *weight* those bones in his favour by making sure he plans just as carefully as he can ahead of time — years before the battle for some of this — but, in the end, you can't plan for everything. 

"Now, I know Laurent told you *that*, but...?" 

"He... did not reiterate it as powerfully as some of his other lessons," Athos says, and licks his lips. 

Treville nods. "It drove him to distraction, son. A part of him was never entirely *convinced* of that particular lesson." 

Athos blinks — "He thought he *could* plan for everything?" 

Treville strokes his beard thoughtfully... and nods. "He thought that, if he could just make himself *smart* enough, *prepared* enough, *good* enough... that he would be able to protect his men *properly*." 

Athos nods.

Aramis frowns — and so does Porthos. He leans in again. "Sir, did he, you know, beat himself up for —" 

"Of course he did," Athos says, and *now* he frowns. "He wouldn't have been able to stop himself." 

"Precisely, son. And we had to drag him out of that pit more than once. Remember this for yourself, Athos — your men don't need you to suffer and bleed for them. Your men need you strong and secure and ready to fight another *day*." 

Athos blinks again — and nods decisively. 

"Good boy —" 

Jason clears his throat again, pushing his empty plate aside and folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Have *you* learned that lesson, yet, amant...?" 

"Of *course* I have, lover." 

"Really." 

Treville grins. "I brought you home to take care of me and make everything about my world just right, didn't I?"

Jason blushes — 

"I managed to convince you to *bind* us — nice and tight — so that we'd never be *separated*, didn't I?" 

"I —" 

"And then I convinced my *god* not to meddle," Treville says, and nods judiciously. "I'd say I've done a damned *good* job of making sure I'd be in fit shape to lead my men." 

"You. You didn't only need *me*!" 

Treville's expression softens — but he never looks away from Jason. "No, I didn't, lover. And you've always done your damnedest to make sure I knew that, too. And, finally, to make sure I had the pack I needed." 

Jason blushes harder. 

Porthos grins at him. "I think he might have a bit of a pash for you, mate." 

"Oh, *shut* it —"

Porthos laughs. "*Speaking* of people with pashes for you..." 

Jason blinks — and looks right at Aramis, who's smiling at him warmly and hotly at once. 

"I need many lessons tonight, Teacher..." 

Jason's eyes gleam red and *hot* — and then he tamps himself right back down. 

"Teacher —" 

"Do you need those lessons from *me*."

Aramis parts his lips —

*Studies* Jason's eyes — 

And then turns back to Athos. "I would like my lessons — my *discipline* — from both of you." 

"Well, *that's* hot," Porthos says —

And Aramis smiles at *him*. "Truly, my Porthos? Even though you know my discipline will be something you dislike?" 

"It's what you *need*, love. I *can't* do anything but *love* that." 

And Aramis's musk rises — 

His smile gets *wider* — 

"Please. I want this." 

And Athos looks stunned. 

Porthos laughs. "Somehow you didn't see this coming, brother?" 

"I... Is it possible to see something clearly and not believe in it?" 

"Well, son, considering how low your alcohol levels are right about now, after *years* of being somewhere in the *clouds*... yes," Treville says, and leans over and licks Athos's temple. 

Athos snorts — 

*Again* — 

And the look in his eyes says he knows full well that Porthos is still counting, but he turns to Aramis instead of skewering Porthos. "Aramis... are you quite certain you desire both of us *tonight*? I have relatively little experience, and I do not wish to injure you in any way."

Aramis ducks his head and smiles more. "My Athos will, perhaps, allow our Teacher to teach us both. My Athos will be *more* experienced at the end of the night —" 

"And more able to care for you in similar ways... yes, I see," Athos says, and covers Aramis's hand on the table. 

Aramis's *and* Athos's scents rise — 

Seem to almost *braid* themselves in the air — 

And Jason is flaring his nostrils — and not touching. Because —

Right. 

"Do you have a question to ask me, Jason...?" 

"I do," Jason says, and breathes *deep* — 

Shudders — 

*Growls* — 

"I *very* much do," he says, and grins. "Dear Porthos. I would like to be allowed to make love with your mate tonight —" 

"Just tonight, Jason...?" 

Jason growls again — 

*Again* — 

It sounds like it's coming from everywhere in the room *except* for Jason's actual body — "No. *Not* just tonight." 

"Then when?" 

"Every night I can. Every *day* I'm *allowed*. Every possible chance I'm *given*." 

Aramis inhales *sharply* — 

*Blushes* — 

*Grins* — 

And Porthos grins, too, reaching out to take Jason's hot hand in his right hand and Aramis's *damp* hand in his left. "Agreed." 

Jason licks his teeth. "Will you not ask me whether or not I wish *you* to be there, Porthos...?" 

*Porthos* blushes —

Feels his *fractional* age in comparison to Jason's — 

"You'll get used to it, son," Treville says, and claps him on the shoulder — 

Porthos laughs. "*Right*," he says, and squeezes Jason's hand. And raises his eyebrows. "Do you, then?" 

Jason exhales a *shadow* that coils around Porthos's *wrist* — "Oh, yes." 

Porthos *stares* at the shadow — 

Stares at *Jason* — 

Athos has *his* eyebrow up — 

Aramis looks *speculative* — 

And Treville is bloody *humming*. 

After a *long* moment, Jason laughs richly and *uncoils* the shadow from around Porthos's wrist — 

Porthos doesn't see where it *goes* — 

"Perhaps you'll think about it...?" 

"Oh, I'll definitely be *thinking* about it, Jason. That felt — I can't *decide* if it felt solid or not!" 

"I can make my shadows feel as solid as... well. Perhaps a conversation for another time."

Porthos snorts — 

Jason grins — and nods to Treville. "*Do* take care of mon amant tonight — and yourself." 

Oh — shit. Porthos blushes — 

"You're an arse, lover." 

Jason laughs hard and stands. "Perhaps I'm simply feeling *frisky*," he says, and turns to Aramis, who, with Athos, is also standing. "Do you know which bedroom suite you'd like to retire to...?" 

"Yours, Teacher," Aramis says, clear and open and easy. 

He's confident, ready, ready for *anything* — 

(My Porthos has made me so...) 

Porthos rumbles — 

And Jason raises an eyebrow. "Are you quite certain about that, Aramis? I do most of my darker workings in that suite, and the... atmosphere can grow heavy." 

"I wish to be surrounded by *you*, Teacher," Aramis says *firmly*. 

Jason makes a *hungry* sound. "And you, Athos? How do you feel about the matter?" And he raises an eyebrow.

"I believe the choice should be Aramis's, for this. His needs are paramount." 

"You're absolutely correct — though your needs *will* not be swept aside. If something causes you discomfort or difficulty, you must be clear immediately." 

Athos smiles with warm pleasure. "As you say, Jason."

"Shall we...?" 

"Let's," Athos says, and turns to him and Treville. "Until later." 

"Yes, my Porthos, my Treville. Until *later*," Aramis says, and he's poised on the balls of his feet again. 

Jason *bows* — 

Porthos laughs. "Love you. Love you *all*." 

Jason stands straight and grins like someone who's only a *few* hundred years old — 

And Treville sighs. "Please do enjoy yourselves *immensely*," he says, and smiles happily. 

And then the others are gone, and he and Treville are alone together in the dining room, and —

And there are a lot of things they can talk about. 

A lot of *awkward* — 

Treville laughs. "Or we could drink." 

"*Sir*." 

"I'm joking," Treville says, and smiles ruefully, stroking down over his beard. "I'm thinking about how your Aramis knew without even asking that *I* wouldn't be able to give him this sort of discipline." 

"Oh. No?" 

Treville turns that smile on him. "No, son. For the exact same reasons you wouldn't, really — though I'd be horrifying the father in me more than the man in me."

Porthos nods. That makes sense. 

"Does it...?" 

Porthos smiles wryly. "We were talking about you today, sir. You know, all of us —" 

"No one can prove I was there, son." 

"I — *sir* —" 

Treville snickers. "Sorry, sorry. I just get nervous when I hear things like that." 

"Well — all right, that makes sense, too." 

Treville inclines his head. And then looks him in the eye and says, "You were talking about how... paternal I can be." 

"*Yes*, sir. I mean, yeah, you kind of had to be with — with *us* —" 

"That's *right*, son —" 

"But now I'm really thinking about it..." 

"Mm?" 

"Those other spheres you've been to, sir. Those... you can't *tell* me you weren't Daddying everyone in *sight*." 

"Ah, well." 

"'Well'?" 

"Well, you're right. I *can't*. It's a craving in me, son. A... I don't even think about it, except when I know I have to *repress* it. It just bloody *happens*." 

Porthos nods and thinks about that. 

Treville sips his wine — 

And Porthos just studies the man for long moments, because he's been using this — all of this— to avoid thinking about some extremely important facts. 

Treville lowers his glass and studies him right back — 

Porthos smiles ruefully. 

"You're not ready to deal with the fact that I'm your father," Treville says, with *admirable* evenness, considering all the pain Porthos can *feel* — 

And *smell* — 

"Don't think about that, son. What you want — what you *need* — is the most important thing." 

"I thought that was Aramis —" 

"Aramis isn't here right now, son. More to the point, Aramis isn't the one with this *hurt*." 

"I'm not — I'm not *hurt* —" 

"Aren't you? Didn't I hurt you by not telling you the truth? By *keeping* the truth about who I was — and who *you* were — from you?"

Porthos shuts his teeth and flushes. 

Treville nods. "I hurt you, and we haven't given you *any* time to think about that, much less deal with it. Meanwhile, countless other things have been happening — including Athos claiming me as not just his father, but as *all* of yours." 

"Don't blame him!" 

"I never would — and I know *you* never would. But it's still a lot to deal with —" 

"It *isn't* —" 

"Son." 

Porthos growls — but Treville only looks at him, steady and sure and *solid*, and — 

And. 

"You know that makes it worse." 

Treville frowns. "What does?" 

"When you do — that. When you're all — bloody perfect and *solid*." 

Treville licks his lips. "When I'm... like the Captain?" 

"And you talk about him like he isn't bloody *you* —" 

"He isn't. Not really —" 

"*Sir* —" 

Treville raises a hand for peace. "I said that wrong. A part of me *is* the Captain, at this point. It couldn't be any other way." 

"That's *right* —" 

"But I'll never think of myself that way." 

Porthos frowns and lifts his nose. 

Treville is leaving himself open — 

Opening his tunic a little more so Porthos will have an easier time getting his scents —

"That's right, son. I want you to know me." 

"I..." 

"Mm?" 

Porthos looks away. 

"Son..." And Treville reaches for him with one hand, but doesn't actually touch. 

That — 

Porthos growls and *looks* at Treville. "I *thought* that I wanted the Captain for my father." 

Treville inhales sharply. "You didn't." 

"No. I..." Porthos growls again. "You showed me — *us* — bits and pieces of the real you. When we were alone with you. When you were a little too tired. When you were just feeling... I don't know. You tell me." 

"When I needed you boys. When the need was too strong for me to hold up the walls between us." 

Porthos nods slowly. "I could feel it, then. Feel *you*." 

Treville licks his lips and searches him. "Tell me... would you tell me..." 

"It would be in your smiles, mostly, sir. The way your eyes would get just... really *inviting*. Like you were urging us to share the joke with you, whatever the joke was. Like you *wanted* us to laugh like arseholes in front of you — no. *With* you." 

"I did. I *did*." 

"And then there was the way you would — you'd tell stories. You'd *share*. Hell, my first *day*. My initial *interview*." 

"I told you about my father." 

"Yes, you bloody *did*. And you were *incredibly* intense about it, but you didn't talk like... you'd put all your *formality* away. You were cursing, and your voice got *soft* in places, and I was just — I knew everything was going to be all right." 

"Oh, son..." 

"And it's — I *get* now that I was *wrong* to think, for all this time, that it was the Captain who was making me feel comfortable and secure and all those other good things, but it means that I have to change my whole way of thinking about you. I can joke around about that, and even make a play at doing it for decent stretches of time when there are other people around —" 

"But not when we're alone, son?" 

"I — fuck. I'm about to chase you away, aren't I." 

Treville smiles ruefully. "None of this comes easy. We've had *remarkably* good luck so far —" 

"Sir —" 

"— and we're still *having* it. The fact that you need more time —" 

"*Sir*. I *don't*." 

Treville blinks — and frowns. "Son...?" 

Porthos smiles wryly. "Remember what Athos said, sir? I don't *do* well with things sitting on me. Especially when there's another person involved. I need — let's talk this out, eh?" 

Treville licks his lips, nods once, and stands, offering Porthos his hand. 

"Sir?" 

"Back to the study, son. We have to give the staff a chance to clean up after us before it gets to be *too* late." 

"Oh — right —" And Porthos takes Treville's hand and lets himself be hauled to his feet — 

Treville is bloody *strong* — 

Treville winks at him — 

"Right, sir, but am *I* going to get stronger?" 

"You already have, and you're already compensating for it." 

"Uh... what?" 

Treville gestures Porthos to follow him — 

There's a maid rubbing her wrist in the hall — 

Treville pauses. "What's this, Justine?" 

"Oh, I just twisted it, sir, it's not anything —" 

"Let me see." 

"Oh, *sir*, you're such a *worrier* —" 

"That I am, lass," Treville says, and examines the wrist thoroughly, prodding it gently, but firmly, bending it this way and that —

Justine makes a helpless peeping noise — 

"*That's* no good," Treville says, and warms her wrist with his big hand. "Will you let me heal you?" 

She frowns and nods. "That hurt more than I thought it would..." 

Treville nods back. "These kinds of injuries can creep up on you. Here," he says, and — opens himself. 

To the *goddess* — 

Porthos can *feel* Her — 

And She can feel *him* — 

Porthos is opening *himself* helplessly — 

He can feel the All-Mother's love and curiosity and eagerness and *love* — 

He can feel it all *through* him — 

He can feel it urging him to go — 

Somewhere?

*Pulling* him —

He yanks himself *back* — 

"Don't do that, son," Treville says, and — they're alone in the hallway. 

They — "Where's Justine?" 

Treville nods toward the dining room. "You were communing for a few minutes — or *almost* communing, I should say." 

"*Shit* — and I just —" 

"Yanked yourself out of your Mother's loving arms...? Yes. Apologize." 

"Uhh. How?" 

Treville blinks again — and then nods, twining their fingers together and opening himself *right* up again. "Just do what I do, son. I know you feel it —" 

"I — I do —" 

"I feel *you* resisting —" 

"She was about to *take* me somewhere!" 

"Ah. Well, we'll go together." 

"*What* —" 

"*Open*." 

Porthos opens himself *reflexively* — 

The All-Mother's joy and love and *welcome* *floods* him — 

He can see Treville smiling *loosely* — 

And then he's on his *back*, and everything is *green*, every sodding green there *is*, and he's full — 

So bloody *full* — 

Hard and aching and dripping — 

Groaning and *arching* because he can feel that it's power inside him, all through him, filling him up and making him stronger, making him better, making him even more the All-Mother's *son* —

And She's —

Fuck, She's *filling* him — 

Taking —

*Fucking* him, and Porthos is groaning, spreading his legs — 

He can hear Treville gasping and *crooning* beside him — 

He can't focus enough to *see* — 

He can't — 

Treville is still gripping his *hand* — 

He's *grunting*, one *hard* little whuff after another — She's fucking him, too!

Porthos is so *hard* — 

He can't — 

He can't keep himself from *spending* — 

"Don't — don't *try*, son —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Give it all up. *Spend* for your Mother —" 

"Shit —" 

"*Share* yourself with Her —" 

"Oh, fuck fuck —" 

And all the power shoves *deep* — 

Shoves hard and *deep* — 

Porthos *howls* and spurts, over and over and *over* again, feeling it all get taken away before it can so much as make his breeches *slick* — 

"But I can still — still *smell* it — *fuck*, son —" And Treville howls — 

And Porthos can smell *his* spend, smell him *losing* it — 

It's so good —

So musky and delicious-smelling and — 

He's clutching Porthos's hand so *tightly* — 

Porthos spurts *more* — 

Treville *barks* and spurts more — 

Porthos is licking at his own face, wanting to taste, wanting to taste more than his own sweat — 

"Oh, son..." 

Porthos shivers and *aches* — 

He's still bloody *hard* — 

Treville is still holding his *hand* — 

"Do you need me to stop —" 

"*No*! I mean —" 

"Shh, it's all right, son," Treville says, and strokes Porthos's hand with his rough thumb — 

Porthos shivers — 

"That, by the way, was the All-Mother making sure you have plenty of power and health — and getting to know you better." 

"I *noticed* —" 

Treville laughs quietly. "She was also taking our seed to fertilize other selves, as Jason mentioned earlier."

"Uhh." 

"You weren't really focusing on that at the moment." 

"Bloody — wait. I'm going to have *children*?" 

And then there's knowledge in him — solid and undeniable, but still so warm and *loving* — *about* that seed, and how it will go to emptier, wilder, barer versions of the All-Mother, aspects of Herself that She's working to populate with *only* Her children, so that there won't be anyone to *hurt* Her children. 

"So... I won't be able to see them?" 

She floods him with warmth, pleasure, *excitement* — and the knowledge that he'll be able to see their children anytime he wishes, and his father's children with Her, too. 

Porthos *blinks* — 

Turns to *look* at Treville — 

And Treville is smiling wryly at him. "I've not taken those trips myself." 

"Why *not*?" 

"I have to admit, I was always a little disturbed by the process of making children with my *god*, son." 

And then Porthos thinks about it. 

*Really* thinks about it. 

Just — 

And the All-Mother is stroking him all over. Soothingly. *Gently*. 

"Yes, you're getting a little agitated." 

"Um." 

"Breathe it out, son." 

"Right, right, I'll just uh. Do that," Porthos says, and — does that. 

Slowly. 

The All-Mother fills him with Her approval and loving care. 

Treville *smells* approving. 

Porthos is still bloody *hard* — 

"Don't think about that, son. Think about breathing." 

Right, he can do that. 

Right now. 

He breathes. 

The All-Mother is *massaging* him with dozens of warm, loving fingers — 

It feels too good to be *very* disturbing. 

"That it does, son," Treville says, and sighs contentedly. 

Porthos keeps breathing, and, when he's calm again — "Um... All-Mother..." 

Every sense Porthos *has* tells him that She's waiting *patiently* for him — 

"What... what will... our children be *like*?" 

And the knowledge comes, gently implacable, that they'll be as strong and beautiful as *he* is, wise and loved and loving. 

Porthos grins. "Oh. Well —" 

"Ask Her what species they'll be." 

Porthos blinks.

Frowns — 

Licks his *lips* — 

The All-Mother is petting him again — and showing him a *parade* of potential species, and Porthos didn't know there *were* that many bloody spiders in the *world* —

Treville is *laughing* like an *arsehole* — 

And the All-Mother is increasingly disappointed with both of them. Just — 

He can *feel* it — 

A *lot* — 

*Terrifyingly* — 

"Oh, fuck — ah. Mother," Treville says, and he's still *laughing*. "It's not that the spiders aren't beautiful, it's just that witches are choosy." 

** I DID KNOW THAT. **

And Porthos feels like he's been rolled *flat*. Like — like a bloody *pastry* — 

Except pastries don't usually ejaculate. 

Not that much, anyway — 

Bloody *hell* — 

*Treville* is *wheezing*, and his musk is everywhere, and Porthos isn't going to get soft — 

**JUST THE SAME, PARENTS SHOULD NOT LAUGH AT THEIR CHILDREN.**

Porthos arches and drools and spends himself *blind* — 

It feels like the largest woman in the world is using him for a *mattress*, soft and overwhelming and *sweet* — 

He can't stop *spurting* — 

"You — you laugh at *ME* all the time!" Treville gasps — 

Fuck — 

**THAT IS DIFFERENT. YOU ARE TINY AND AMUSING.**

Porthos arches so violently that his back pops and he spurts and spurts and — 

"That's not fair, Mother —" 

"Bloody SHUT IT, sir! Oh, shit —" And Porthos spurts *again* — 

Drops back down flat on his back — 

Spurts *again* — 

And Treville is laughing, gasping, wheezing — 

Filling the air with his *annoyingly* delicious scents — 

Treville laughs *harder* — 

And the All-Mother fills them with love and warmth and pleasure in exactly who they are. *Somehow*. 

"All-Mother, will you be really annoyed if I *beat* Treville?" 

The knowledge comes — gently, without actual words — that beating Treville only improves him, from what She's learned about him over the years. 

"That's entirely true, son — *OOF*." And Treville sighs happily. "Your punches are magnificent, son." 

"Bloody *thank* you. Stop antagonizing our *goddess*!" 

"So you do want to meet my ten million spider-children?" 

"Uhh..." 

"Maybe go admire their webs?"

"I." 

"They probably cover an entire forest by now —" 

"*Shit* —" 

"You can gaze into their eighty million bright, shining eyes and tell them stories about —" 

"So um. All-Mother?" 

Porthos can feel Her *avid* amusement — 

"D'you think. I mean. Dogs are nice?" 

"Too easy, son. Variety is the spice of life." 

"Sir, I love you, but I'm going to do something extremely mean to you soon." 

"Hm. Mean in the nice way, or —" 

"Mean in the mean way." 

Treville sighs sadly. "Mother, I just don't think my boy is the adventurous sort, yet —" 

"You *arsehole* —" 

And the knowledge comes, deep and utterly true: They are beautiful, and perfect, and Hers. 

Porthos blushes and doesn't know what to *do* with himself — 

"Just live in it, son. Live in it forever," Treville says, sighing again and obviously giving himself over to being — loved. 

Porthos can do that, too. 

She fills them with more power — this time, Porthos can *feel* himself getting stronger, more vital, more *ready* — 

*Somehow* — 

Despite all the *spending* — 

And Treville is laughing again. "Mother will never leave you unfit for duty, son. Remember that." 

"You realize I'm now thinking about you spending fifteen times a day." 

"Only when I've been stroppy and Mother's needed to discipline me, son." 

"So all the bloody time?" 

Treville grins at him. 

Like a *complete* arsehole. 

Porthos gestures — and that's exactly what he's doing when he finds himself standing in front of Treville in the hall outside the dining room — 

Treville lolls his *tongue* — 

And *Alaire* clears his bloody *throat*. 

Porthos *barely* manages not to jump — 

Treville *chokes* — 

"Sirs," Alaire says, while they're still recovering. "Will you be retiring to the study?" 

Treville punches himself in the chest —

Coughs — 

"Ah. Yes. Yes." He coughs again. "Yes, we will be. Watered wine will be fine, Alaire." 

Alaire inclines his head, scar-tissue twitching. "Sirs." And then he leaves.

Porthos breathes — and then thinks about it. 

"Son?" 

"You actually love it when he does that. Don't you." 

"Well..." 

"You *do*!" 

Treville grins and leads them toward the study — 

"You *arsehole* —" 

"Every life needs a little excitement, son." 

"One day I'm going to punch you in front of the bloody *King* or someone —" 

"That *would* be inconvenient —" 

"You'll still *deserve* it." 

"That I will, son," Treville says, and hums. "But we were talking about your strength." 

"Wait, what?" 

Treville looks at him with his eyebrows up — 

"Oh — right, *before* — and I can't believe you get stroppy with the *All-Mother* —" 

"She loves her children, son. And She loves her children to be *happy*. Remember that." 

"I... yeah?" 

"Mm. A lot of these gods — they'd have their children wriggle to them on their bellies if they could manage it. The All-Mother isn't like that. She's a *mother*. And not an abusive one, either." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. "Got it." 

"Of course, She's still a *god*, and one of the most important things She said was that I was *tiny*. We both are. Everything is, just about, compared to Her." 

"Oh. And... maybe tiny things are harder to keep track of when things go badly?" 

"At any time at all, son. Tiny things are harder to keep track of and *easier* to *crush*, whether or not you mean to. The All-Mother does a damned good job of *not* crushing Her children, but you have to wonder how much time it took for Her to learn how to do it."

Porthos winces. "Right, I — got that, too." 

Treville studies him for a long moment — and then nods. "Good. *One* of the reasons I'm such an arse with Her is to make sure my voice is nice and loud in those incalculably vast ears. To make sure I — and my loved ones — don't get *lost* or *forgotten*." 

"Does She forget Her other children?" 

"Not that I've *seen*... but you hear tales in this life, son. And if you've a brain in your head, you pay attention to those tales, and you *don't take chances*." 

Porthos nods once. "Yes, sir. I hear you." 

Treville takes a deep breath. "I know you do, son. And that's *incredibly* relieving." 

Porthos *looks* at Treville. 

"Mm? What is it?" 

Porthos pushes open the door of the study and walks in. "Nothing, I... no, not nothing." 

"Then what?"

"You'd protect me from literally *everything* if you could. Wouldn't you." 

Those eyebrows go up again. "You're my son." 

"I was my Mum's son, too, sir. *She* had a blade made for my hand when I was four — and taught me how to *use* it." 

"I'm sure she did, son. But I could feel her — and you." 

Porthos frowns. "And...?" 

Treville crouches by the fireplace and lights it with a few practiced moves before standing again and looking into Porthos's eyes. "I could feel her getting sicker. Weaker." 

"She didn't — she still looked —" But. 

There's everything Porthos *knows* now about how his Mum died. She'd been getting weaker from the time he was an *infant*. By the time he was three or four...

Porthos winces. "She knew she wouldn't have long with me." 

Treville nods. "I was frantic. Wild. We all were. Our searching got more and more *desperate*. But there's no way any of us were as desperate as your mother, son — who knew she was going to leave you alone." 

"*Fuck* — she. She *had* to make sure I could protect myself at least a little bit." 

"That's right. And, in the end, I believe she chose to die sooner —" 

"*What*?" 

"So that she could give you her magic, her energy, her power, her *protection* —" 

"But — she *never* would've *chosen* —" 

"If it meant you'd be healthier, son? Stronger? Better able to look out for yourself in a place where death was around every corner?" 

Porthos *growls* — 

Pushes a hand back through his hair — 

Paces — 

"Son, I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you think of these —" 

"I. Was always stronger." 

Treville takes a breath. "I know." 

"I was always stronger than everyone else around me, and I always had to be *careful*, and I always — I learned quick. I could tell, you know," Porthos says, to the fire. 

"What could you tell, son." 

"How much force a given person could take. How gentle to be with this one, how *hard* I could be with *that* one. It wasn't difficult, not after a while." 

"You got used to yourself. To your *power*." 

"I didn't think of it —" Porthos growls and shuts his mouth. "I — yeah. I did get used to it." He doesn't look away from the fire. 

He can still feel Treville coming closer, moving into his *space* — 

And feel Treville's hands on his shoulders once he's right in front of him.

"Look up, son." 

Porthos does — and Treville's expression is soft and gentle and hurt — for him. 

"They — the witches who gave you all that training when you were a boy — didn't tell you how much *potential* power you had, did they." 

"I — no. They told me my Mum had poured her magic into me, but they made it sound like she was pouring it into a bottomless pit. No one knew about *you*. Or — *enough* about you." 

Treville winces and nods. "Of course they didn't, and so they *couldn't* know what you had coming — if I broke the blocks on you." He squeezes Porthos's shoulders. "I want to take your pain away —" 

"I want you to take my *ignorance* away, sir! Just — bloody *decades* of it!" 

Treville winces harder. "I would. I would, son. I'd answer every bloody question you had and — oh, son. You understand how you haven't noticed yourself getting stronger...?" 

"*Yes*, I — it still seems *dangerous*." 

"I — or Jason — would've stopped you from making love to Athos or Aramis *tonight*, son." 

Porthos blinks. "Yeah? But not last night?" 

Treville nods. "Last night your shift wasn't this far along, son. You were still *mostly* human —" 

"I *knotted* Aramis last night!" 

"And, tonight, you would almost certainly shift into an *incredibly* randy, powerful, *magically* powerful, and difficult-to-control *dog* if you tried making love to either of them." 

Porthos stares. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "You'll have help with this, son —" 

"*Sir* —" 

"It *won't* be a problem once you complete your first several shifts and you *learn* how to put the dog in you back in the kennel —" 

"*Teach* me!" 

"I will, son. I absolutely will. But I need you to know that neither you nor Aramis were in any danger last night —" 

"Because you were *watching* —" 

"And because I could *sense* how far along your shift was," Treville says, and *looks* at him. 

And Porthos stops — 

And breathes — 

And — breathes. 

"Do that, son," Treville says, and strokes Porthos's shoulders. 

Pets him. 

*Soothes* — wait. 

"Son —" 

"What if I'd tried to make love to you or *Jason* tonight?" 

Treville blinks and *blushes* — 

"Oh, *what*?" 

"Son..." 

"*Tell* me!" 

Treville smiles wryly and nods, cupping Porthos's cheek with one strong hand and *gripping* Porthos's shoulder with the other hand. "You don't want us the same way you want your brothers, son." 

"What — what does that mean." But that wasn't a question — 

"Because you already know the answer...?" 

And this may be the *most* appropriate moment for him to be thinking about all his fantasies of being bent over by Treville — the most appropriate moment he's ever *had*!

But that doesn't mean he appreciates the fantasies all crowding his *head* just now. 

Porthos glowers — and blushes. 

Treville smiles ruefully — and moves the hand on Porthos's face back to Porthos's shoulder. "You're not alone, son. Remember?"

"I..." 

"I've never been close to you when you've been spending before. I... I want to ask you a thousand inappropriate questions, and I want to be *extremely* friendly to the All-Mother in the hopes that She *always* brings me with you when it's time for you to commune." 

"Oh — shit —"

"But... we still don't have to talk about that —" 

"*Sir* —" 

"I only want to keep you from beating yourself about the head and shoulders for your *feelings*, son. This — it's just who you are. And it's who *I* am, too." 

"And we bloody well have to talk about it!" 

Treville licks his lips — 

*Squeezes* Porthos's shoulders — 

Flushes and looks *away* — 

"Are you *nervous*, sir?" 

"I'm bloody terrified of saying something that will make you leave." 

Porthos frowns — "I'm not going to *leave* —" 

"Say that again." 

"I'm not going to *leave*, sir. We — we're building something good. All of us are. And some of it has awkward bits, but we're smoothing those over." 

Treville swallows — 

Squeezes Porthos's shoulders *again* — 

And looks at him again. "Let's... have a seat." 

"On the couch?" 

"Yes, son?" And Treville raises his *eyebrows*, which — 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "It would just be a bit *weird* to have you in that big throne of a chair while we're talking about *this*. *Captain*." 

Treville coughs. "Point taken, son," he says, and gestures to the couch. 

They sit, then, leaving a little space between them. 

Not enough for another whole *person*, but enough...

Well, enough to be bloody *awkward*, actually. 

Porthos snorts and moves closer. 

"Son?"

"We both know I want to be close to you more than I don't, sir." 

"Right now, though?" 

Porthos licks his lips — 

Treville raises *one* eyebrow — 

And Porthos snorts again. "So maybe I want to — get used to you." 

*Treville* licks his lips. "Son." 

"Don't think about that. Just talk to me." 

"Hm. I'm reasonably sure that I'm the one who's supposed to say things like that, son." 

"Well... you still can? Just later, the next time *I* get twisted up about —" 

"I don't want you forcing yourself to do anything —" 

"I'm not, I promise. You smell good. You smell *really* good. You — you smell like. Uh." 

"Sex with plants?" 

Porthos frowns and licks his lips — 

Tries to think of *any* other way to describe those scents — 

Sniffs *himself* — "Bloody hell." 

"Don't think about that, son. Just talk to me." 

Porthos snickers and *shoves* Treville, who's grinning at him warmly. 

"You'll get used to the All-Mother soon enough, I promise." 

"I doubt it!" 

"You truly will, son, and —" 

"Does She..." 

"Mm?" 

"Will She fuck me *every* time?" 

Treville blinks. "Of course." 

Porthos licks his lips again. "I can't help thinking about all the earth-mages out there who, you know, never *bend* for anyone." 

Treville snorts. "I've had that thought." 

"It's got to be a rude awakening, is all —" 

"Don't call your Mother rude, son." 

Porthos guffaws — 

Treville grins at him — 

Drinks his laugh *in* — 

Porthos can see him doing it — 

"Yes, you can, son..." 

And that... Porthos nods and licks his lips. "That's one of the things you're attracted to, with me. The way I laugh." 

Treville nods, slow and serious, which — 

It absolutely answers Porthos's next question, but he has to ask it anyway. "People say my Mum laughed a lot of the same ways I do. Does that..." 

"She did... and it does." 

Porthos takes a breath — and nods. "Could you... tell me more about that, sir?" 

"About your mother? Or about the way I... work?" 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "*Both*. But — more the latter, for now." 

Treville nods and strokes his beard. "I've always loved people with good laughs. People who *meant* it when they laughed. Does that make sense?" 

"Oh — yeah. You don't want someone who lies with their *laughter*." 

"Exactly. And sometimes people just *do* laugh quietly, or laugh quietly most of the *time*, and that's fine — so long as it's honest —" 

"But you've always perked *right* up for the people who were loud about things?" 

Treville sighs. "The dog in me will say your mother laughed 'big', and I've always thought that was the best way to describe it. My Amina-love's laugh was as big as the whole world, right from the beginning, and I needed to hear it from her just... constantly," he says, and smiles at Porthos. "In *many* of the same ways I needed to hear Kitos's." 

"Oh." 

"Mm?" 

"We were talking today, like I said..." Porthos smiles ruefully. "I remembered that Mum told me a story, right before she died." 

"Yes, son?" 

"She knew I was worried about her. About her being hurt and sick..." He shakes his head. "She pulled out the big guns and told a *personal* story, the way she never did." 

"She —" 

"I know, now, that she couldn't," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully again. "Anyway — she told me about her friends. Her *family*." 

"Oh — fuck." 

"I uh. She described Kitos and Reynard *really* well, sir — Athos knew who I was talking about right away. My Mum said Kitos's laughs were like a *rockslide*." 

"When. When they weren't like thunder, son. He was... incredible," Treville says, and swallows. 

Porthos cups Treville's hand and squeezes it — 

"Son, I'm —" 

"I know you're not all right, so don't —" 

"Will you tell me... what else she said?" And Treville's expression is raw. 

"She said that — well, first, she didn't use names. I think that, maybe, if she had, it would've..." Porthos shudders. "She was dead a week and a half after she told this story, sir." 

"Oh — fuck — you don't have to —" 

"It's — well, it's not *all right*, but — I want to tell you," Porthos says, and holds Treville's gaze. Squeezes his hand *firmly*. "I want to." 

Treville winces — and nods. "Tell me. Please." 

"She said that her first friend, her first *brother*, was tall, and very pretty, and had fox-red hair, and a thick, country accent — she mimicked it —" 

"She was *perfect* at voices. She could — please go on," Treville says, and bites his lip.

"Yes, sir. She said he was *always* after all the pretty girls, and I asked her if that meant he was always after *her*, since of course my Mum was the most beautiful woman —" 

"In. In all the spheres. In all the *spheres*. And Reynard was —" Treville growls, tears rolling down his cheeks. "He was jealous of Amina, at first. When he realized she was my mate. But once he realized she wouldn't take me from him, that she loved him — so much — and we could all be together —" 

"Uh... *all* together? Wait, what am I saying? You're the biggest deviant on the *planet*." 

"And so was your mother, son —" 

Porthos *coughs* — "Right, right. What *she* said —" 

"Was that he was after her when... when she had more meat on her bones," Treville says, and sighs with hurt. "You're sharing. You're showing me your memories." 

"Oh. I... should I apologize?" 

"No, son. Never for giving me my Amina-love — oh. Oh, look at her pretending to be Kitos for you..." And Treville smiles with more tears in his eyes — 

He does nothing to dash them away — 

"That is *exactly* the expression he would put on his face when he was pretending to glare at someone — your giggles are the *precise* response desired, son... oh." 

And Porthos knows Treville is looking at Mum talking about *him*. 

About the man who wasn't so tall, and wasn't so pretty, but who was everything to her. Who was her brother and her love and the man she would always *belong* to. 

And Porthos had asked her if *he* had belonged to *her* — 

"Yes, I *do*," Treville says, obviously helpless not to answer the child Porthos used to be — 

Obviously just a little bit *lost* — 

Porthos pushes *closer* — and wishes he'd wrapped an arm around Treville instead of just taking his hand, because — 

Because this is the part of the memory where all the secret-telling *gets* to his Mum, where it *hurts* her, makes her more *sick* — 

And Treville watches — *takes* — every moment of the memory. 

Every moment of the child Porthos used to be helping Mum stagger to their nest of blankets — 

Every moment of him patting at her hot, fevered face and trying to sing to her, trying to quiet her *delirium* — 

And then Porthos is *grunting* — Treville just bit his *arm*. He — 

He blinks himself away from the memories — 

He *looks* at Treville — 

And Treville looks at *him* as he releases Porthos's arm. "Sorry about that, son. You were getting a little lost in... that terrible place." 

"I — *you* —" 

"Which was my fault in the first place." He shakes his head once. "My poor boy," he says, and reaches up to cup Porthos's face. "Tell me how you are." 

"I — I'm not — I'm not all *right*, but —" He growls. "This wasn't what I wanted to talk about." 

Treville frowns and nods. "I know. You're *sure* you don't *need* to talk about it, though?" 

Porthos takes a breath and *thinks* about that — 

"That's right, son..." 

Porthos licks his lips. "Tell me more..." 

"Mm?" 

"I need — more of everything," Porthos says, and coughs a laugh.

"You can have it." 

And that... Porthos nods. "I know that about you, actually." 

Treville smiles wryly — and *then* takes his hand back and uses a handkerchief to wipe his tears away. "Good. Can you tell me what you need more of right now?"

"I — Kitos." 

"Yes?" 

"Well, not —" Porthos shakes his head again. "You needed his laughter 'a little like' you needed my Mum's, and you drink mine in like sweet wine after a forced *march*." 

"I certainly do..."

"But you didn't need him the same way you needed — my Mum was your mate." 

"That's right —"

"So how do you need *me*, sir?" 

And Treville looks at him with *wide* eyes — 

Hungry — bloody *starved* eyes —

And then he shutters them and turns *away*. 

"Don't sodding *do* that —" 

"I apologize —" 

"*Look* at me!" 

Treville turns back — 

Starts to reach for Porthos's face — and drops his hand. 

"*Sir* —" 

"I want so much with you, son..." 

"What do you *need*. Is it the same as it was with my mum? Is it *just* pack —" 

"There's no such *thing* as 'just' pack!" And Treville is snarling — 

Gripping Porthos by the *beard* — 

Growling and searching Porthos *wildly* — 

"Sir —" 

"Stop hiding from what you *feel* from me." 

Porthos grunts — and realizes there's a wall inside him, a wall *he's* holding up between himself and — 

"*Me*." 

"Sir —" 

"Push it *down*." 

Porthos gasps and *shoves* it down — and *croons* as he's hit with a *rush* of hunger, of *lust* —

Of love so *fierce* —

Porthos is *panting* and crooning — 

Treville needs him so *much* — 

Treville *loves* him so — 

But there's pain in Treville, some deep *hurt* — 

"Oh, son — oh, son, I'm sorry —" 

"Sir? What is it? What's wrong?" 

Treville gives him an *anguished* look — 

"Sir, what *is* it, we can fix it —" 

"I shouldn't have done that to you," he says, *inexplicably*, and tugs his fingers out of Porthos's beard — 

"*Sir* —" 

"I shouldn't have — I should have left you your walls. Your protections —" 

"You didn't *hurt* me, and now I can *feel* you instead of just *smelling* you —" 

"I'm *manipulating* you!" 

Porthos stares at Treville. Just — stares. 

Treville pants and starts to stand — 

Porthos growls and *yanks* him back down to the couch — 

"*Fuck* — *son* —" 

"I'm not one of your mouthy pretty boys!" 

"I." 

"I'm not even your *son* from a decade ago, sir! I'm bloody *grown*!" 

Treville stares at *him* — but it looks like he's also thinking, so Porthos will take it. 

"Just — for fuck's sake, sir. I *know* you don't want to take advantage of me or anything *like* that. I *know* you want to make sure I go into *anything* we do with my eyes wide open. I can *feel* that. But I already knew you weren't an arsehole!" 

"Son..." Treville licks his lips and searches him — 

Growls — 

*Shakes* — "I can't hurt you. I can't ever hurt you." 

"I won't bloody *let* you —" 

"I can't — lose control with you." 

"Do you *ever*?" 

Treville blinks — "Not... as a general rule."

"Then when?" 

"Your mother and I — sometimes we lost control together." 

And that answers several more questions. Porthos nods slowly and leans back. 

Treville's eyes widen — "Son, I don't think of you — I'm not trying to *recreate* my relationship with your mother with you —" 

"Are you sure about that?" 

"You're your own person, son. You..." Treville shakes his head. "*Some* of the things I love about you are the same as things I loved about Amina, but —" 

"Not all of them." 

"*No*," Treville says, and meets Porthos's eyes steadily. Evenly. "Some of the things I loved about your mother were the same as things I loved about my *father*, son." 

"I — oh." And Porthos blinks rapidly. "Did you... did your father..." 

"No, son, he didn't." 

"Right — right —" 

"I *wanted* him to, though —" 

"Bloody *hell* —" 

"I wanted it more than anything for a *number* of years —" 

"For fuck's *sake* —" 

"And, yes, your mother — and the rest of my first pack — knew all about that," Treville says, and then just bloody *looks* at him. 

Porthos stares back. 

Treville has the nerve to raise a sodding *eyebrow* at him — 

Wait, no, Porthos can stop catching bloody flies. "Mum really knew — everything?" 

"Right down to the content of the fantasies. We *had* to know everything about each other. There was nothing..." Treville pauses and narrows his eyes as he looks at something in the past. 

"Sir?" 

"I needed every part of your mother I could get. And she needed me just the same way — and it was like that even before we were bound. The biggest difference, I sometimes thought, is that *after* we were bound, I *realized* your mother was as hungry for me as I was for her." Treville gives himself a shake. "But we're getting afield. What can I tell you about my father?" 

Porthos is expecting himself to want to steer the conversation elsewhere, at least for now, but —

Treville smiles with a bright wryness. "You don't want to, son?"

"I. I want to know everything about you, sir." 

Treville closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deep. When he opens his eyes, they're gleaming hot. "Ask anything. Ask *everything*." 

"Did you — you wanted your father to make love with you." 

"That's right." 

"Did you want other people, too, when you were a boy? Or — just him?" 

"I was mad for his lieutenants, too — some more than others, but, really, I had *several* fantasies about the whole group of them passing me around —" 

"Oh my — and *they* never...?" 

"Never. They would've *eviscerated* *anyone* who laid a hand on my father's children, and I was the one of those children they spent the most time with on campaign and the like." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. "Do you... still... think about them — no, that's a stupid question —" 

"It isn't, son," Treville says, and squeezes Porthos's shoulder. "It's been a long time since I've *fantasized* about any of them, but..." And he nods to his throne of a chair. "That was my father's chair. I know it's beat to hell and doesn't really suit the way this place is decorated, at *all*, but..." 

"It's — it's like he's still with you when you sit in it, sir?" 

"Holding me, son. Keeping me... perhaps a little bit safe." 

"Oh... sir..." 

Treville strokes Porthos's cheek — and then reaches up to stroke Porthos's scarf. Mum's scarf. "We carry our dead with us however we're able, sometimes." 

Porthos swallows and nods. 

"Ask more questions."

"I want. Uh..." 

"Mm?" 

"You can — you can tell me stories, you know? Anytime you want. About — about anything." 

Treville grunts. "Yes, son?"

"Yeah, please. I want it. I need it." 

Treville rumbles and grins as though Porthos had given him a *gift* — 

"Sir —" 

"You'll understand when you're older, son." 

And that... 

"Mm?"

"I can't decide if that was the *most* paternal thing you've ever said to me, or the *least*." 

Treville *coughs* — and licks his lips. "We may need to define our terms here, son." 

Porthos snorts and shoves him again — 

Treville snickers — 

Porthos smacks him — 

Treville *rumbles* more — 

"Fuck, sir, I — do *I* have anything in common with your father?"

"You have your grandfather's honesty, but both he and your mother were more ruthless about things than you could ever be. Other than that..." And Treville smiles ruefully and shakes his head. "He would've adored you, though." 

"You — yeah?" 

Treville nods once. "You never would've let him get a fat head — he demanded *that* kind of ruthlessness from the people who surrounded him — and you're a loving, warm, respectful, thoughtful, honest, *soldier* who nonetheless knows how to *laugh*. If you're wondering, I've just described every last one of the lieutenants who had a hand in raising me." 

Porthos opens his mouth — 

Closes it — 

And then just *looks* at Treville. 

"Yes, son?" 

"*Where* did you get all these fixations *from*." 

"They just happened —" 

Porthos looks at Treville *harder* — 

And Treville laughs. 

Porthos keeps *looking* — 

Treville snickers like a *boy* — 

"I'm going to start shaking you in a minute, sir —" 

Treville *chokes* — "Son, I — I *swear* I don't know how I wound up this way." 

"But —" 

"I don't," Treville says, and he's grinning, and his eyes are sparkling, and the love he feels for Porthos is massive and a little blinding. 

Porthos takes a breath — but doesn't try to push it away. 

"You can —" 

"I don't *want* to." 

Treville lifts his nose — and smiles more broadly. "My boy..." 

"And your mate, and your bloody lieutenant-dad —" 

Treville snickers more — 

"I have to get Athos to tell me more about his parents and Uncles. I don't trust them to not all secretly be your *Mum*." 

Treville *wheezes* — 

Porthos whacks him on the back — and doesn't check his strength overmuch. 

Treville winds up on the floor, holding his belly with one hand and wiping tears of laughter away with the other. 

"You're an *arse*, sir." 

"That — that I am, son — oh, that was good," Treville says, slowly sobering himself and sitting up on his elbows. His hair and beard are mussed, his shirt is crooked, he still smells like sex with plants, and he's grinning up at Porthos like a naughty boy. 

And this —

This is the real man. 

This is the man who's always been *inside* the Captain.

The man who's always been just one good push, one good scratch, one good *joke* away from — joining them. 

Joining him. 

This is his father. 

Treville inhales sharply — "Don't rush yourself, son —" 

"I'm not," Porthos says, and smiles, shaking his head. "I just... a part of me is thinking about what it was like to come up in the Court. Of *course* I thought about what sort of father I'd like to have, eh?" 

"Oh, son... tell me." 

"So you can try to be just what my tiny little self wanted?" 

"I... no?" Treville blushes and laughs. "I'll try to avoid that, I promise —" 

"You'll fail," Porthos says, and leaning over and letting his hands dangle between his knees. 

"What?" 

"I wanted..." Porthos licks his lips and thinks back to those daydreams, those faceless *wants*...

"Oh." 

"Yeah. I wanted... I couldn't have put this into words at the time, but I wanted someone warm, and loving, and full of laughter. Someone strong enough to protect me and my Mum, but still gentle. Someone who *liked* taking care of people." 

Treville lifts his nose again and frowns. "Who *didn't* like to take care of people in your life?" 

"You already know Yejide was — *is* — a cold one. I can count the number of times she touched me when it wasn't for a ritual." 

Treville growls.

Porthos smiles ruefully. "Why don't you put that aside —" 

"I *can't* —" 

"— and think, instead, about the fact that you're the Daddy I always wanted?" 

Treville grunts and *blinks* — 

"Yeah, like *that*," Porthos says, and beckons. "Come back up here. Those rugs are mine to chew on —" 

"Son —" 

"Please," Porthos says, and meets Treville's eyes steadily. 

He knows exactly what Treville is feeling from *him* in this moment — 

Everything he's *feeling* — 

And Treville is rumbling as he sits on the couch again, as he cups Porthos's face and — doesn't kiss. 

He leans his forehead against Porthos's own — 

He lets them *breathe* together — 

And Porthos realizes that *some* of the things Treville is smelling have to be things like *worry*, and *hesitation* — "I'm sorry —" 

"Shh," Treville says, and licks Porthos's mouth.

"Oh — shit." 

"How was that, mm?" 

Porthos licks his lips — 

Tastes *Treville* — 

His *father* — 

"It's all right, son. We can take this just as slow as you need to —" 

"But *you're* ready." 

"Oh, son," Treville says, and laughs quietly. "I was ready for you years before I got you back." 

"You didn't know how I grew up!" 

"I trusted your mother to make you perfect..." 

"*Fuck* — why did — *how* did you make that sound so *hot*?" 

Treville laughs again — and *licks* him again. 

"Unh —" 

"Tell me, son. Am I touching you too much now?" 

"You can *feel* that you're not!" 

"I always need your voice," Treville says, and pulls back enough to lick Porthos's temples. "I always need my beautiful son's voice." 

"Fuck..." 

"Mm? Tell me." 

"Just. You need me," Porthos says, and blushes hard. 

Treville pants — 

Licks Porthos's cheek — 

Licks Porthos's *beard* — 

"Fuck, sir, I feel you all *through* me..." 

Treville growls and *grips* Porthos's biceps so *powerfully* — 

Porthos grunts and *focuses* — and he's hard. 

He's hard, and *Treville's* hard — he can *feel* it — 

And that's just making Porthos harder. 

It. 

Porthos licks his lips, then leans in and licks *Treville's* lips. 

Licks — 

Licks his father's lips. 

Licks his *Daddy's* lips, nice and slowly and thoroughly, and he can feel them both getting harder — 

Thicker and *needier* — 

"Do you like that, son?" And Treville's — *Daddy's* — voice is low and rough and just a little breathless. 

Porthos nods and licks Daddy's soft beard — 

Daddy shudders — 

Growls — 

"Do you like making your Daddy harder, son?" 

Porthos pants — and laughs. "I do, yeah, Daddy." 

Daddy grins at him — and licks his own lips slowly. 

Porthos rumbles. "So uh... are we going to make these rugs even more delicious?"

"Is that what you want, son...? Is this still the room you feel most comfortable in?" 

"I — well. It's just that I figured you might want to keep *your* suite for you and Jason. That's where the two of you *mostly* make love, right?" 

Daddy's smile gets softer. "It is, son. We truly did save his suite for workings and the like." 

"Right, so —" 

"I'd like," Daddy says, "to be surrounded by your scents tonight, son." 

"Oh." Porthos blushes. 

"Unless you want to save your suite for you and your brothers...?" 

"I wasn't really thinking that far, Daddy," Porthos says, and blushes again. "Part of me... I want my suite to be for... everyone." 

Daddy rumbles and rumbles and licks *into* Porthos's mouth — 

Kisses Porthos hard and deep and *wet* — 

Porthos groans and *takes* it — 

It's — 

It's *nothing* like the kisses he'd imagined from the Captain — it's too *dirty* for that, too sloppy and *nasty* — but it's heating Porthos up, making him harder, making him need to *suck* that tongue — 

(Then why don't you...) 

"*Mm* —" Porthos's eyes fly open wide — 

And Daddy's eyes are narrowed in a *hot* smile as he *fucks* Porthos's mouth with his tongue, slow and vicious and *slick* - 

Porthos sucks and *slurps* — 

Daddy *shudders* and squeezes Porthos's arms harder — 

Athos *might* have given us a few pointers today, Daddy, Porthos says, and slurps *again* — 

(Fuck —) 

Porthos grins into the kiss and *teases* Daddy's tongue — 

And Daddy growls and *lengthens* his tongue, *thins* it — 

Porthos grunts and sucks helplessly, licks and *laps* helplessly, *whines* — 

(Is that so...) 

Please — 

Daddy pulls back and licks Porthos's whole *face*, and his ears, and his throat, and the bit of his chest he can reach through Porthos's open collar. 

"Oh, yeah — *yeah* —" 

"You taste *perfect*." 

"Meaning I taste like I belong to you, Daddy...?" 

Daddy growls and *bites* him, low on his throat — 

"*Unh* —" 

(Don't tease.) 

"Who was *teasing*? This is a legitimate bloody — all right, no, it was also a tease —" 

Treville rumbles a laugh into his throat — 

Bites *harder* — 

"*Fuck*, Daddy —" 

And then Treville pulls back and licks *his* whole face. "Let me take you to bed, son. Let me have you." 

Porthos pants and grins again. "You know, you hardly ever *ask* for anything in my fantasies..." 

"Really, now." 

Porthos shrugs. "Just a suggestion. You don't have to *take* it or anything. And that's a hint —" 

"I *won't* take it, son —" 

"Aw —" 

"Shh," Daddy says, standing and offering Porthos his hand again — 

Porthos lets himself get hauled up — and *close*. "Daddy —" 

"Shh..." And Daddy... sniffs him. 

His mouth, his cheek. 

His throat and his ear. 

*Behind* his ear — 

And then Daddy rumbles. "You're starting to smell properly like your Daddy now..." 

"Shit —" 

"And we still have some *talking* to do, son." 

"We *do*?" 

"Son. What would you say to a young man in your position who had just made that perfectly incredible offer?" 

Porthos opens his mouth — and closes it. "Right, yeah, we've got some talking to do. Sorry, Daddy —" 

"It's all right, son," Daddy says, and licks him — 

And licks his mouth over and *over* — 

Porthos *shivers* — 

"It's — mm. You're perfect. Let's go to your bedroom suite." 

"Yes, Daddy," Porthos says, and feels his belly squirm just a little, feels it *wanting* to drop for the next halfway decent command he *gets* — 

"Noted, son," Daddy says, and leads them out of the study. "I won't make either of us wait long." 

"No, Daddy?" 

"No. We only have to work out where we stand. What we *want*. A *little* bit of what we want." 

"I'll tell you anything —" 

"Start with..." Daddy licks his lips and leads them through the halls. "I won't ask you if *I* hurt you in your fantasies, because we've established that your fantasies didn't often have much to do with me." 

"Sorry, Daddy —" 

"Well, that raises another question." 

"What does?" 

Daddy starts walking a little faster — 

Porthos keeps pace — 

"Do you spend much time *apologizing* in your fantasies of bending for a lover — a *lover*, not just anyone." 

"Uh... no, actually. Hunh." 

"I just bring it out of you, son?" And Daddy grins at him so softly — "You've neither said nor done anything to apologize for, by the way." 

"I —" 

"I *promise*." 

Porthos licks his lips and nods. "I'll — remember that." 

"Will you?" 

"Yes, Daddy," Porthos says, making a promise of his own. 

Daddy rumbles and takes the stairs at a jog. "My boy. Are you *hurt* in your fantasies." 

"Yeah, I — sometimes. Not too badly, though." 

"Mm. Not like your brother." 

Porthos coughs. "*No*, Daddy!" 

Daddy laughs hard and leads them through the dimmer, quieter upstairs halls.

"Uh... are you disappointed?"

"Not at all, son. I like hurting my lovers, but taking things to that sort of extreme... well, I *need* to know that my *lover* needs it. I *know* you understand that." 

"I do, yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't *fantasize* about taking things to extremes." 

"Oh, yes?" 

"Well — yeah. I used to all the time with — Aramis," Porthos says, and then he can't really see where he's going, or what he's doing, because it's been at least two hours since he's thought of the Aramis they'd lost, since he'd thought of his *brother*, and that's wrong, and that's *wrong* — 

And then Daddy has his arms around him — 

Daddy is pulling Porthos *in* — 

Wrapping him up tight and stroking him and saying — 

What is he saying? He has to listen to his Daddy — 

" — that's right, you do. *Listen* to me." 

"I — I — yes, Daddy —" 

"Shh. Just listen. Are you ready?" 

"Yes, Daddy. I'm — I'll listen to what you say." 

"Good boy —" 

"No —" 

"Shh. You remember how this works, son. You remember how this kind of *grief* works." 

"I — I can't just *forget* him!" 

"And you won't. *Ever*. He's going to live in your soul long after you rejoin the All-Mother. He's going to live in *all* of us that way." 

"But — I —" 

"But you stopped thinking about him for a period of time." 

"Fuck — and I did it — I did it last night, and I —" 

"And you'll do it again, and again — *don't* pull away from me," Daddy says, and his voice is low and dangerous. 

Porthos hears himself make a *terrible* noise — but he stays still. 

"That's right, son. You just stay right here in my arms. You just..." Daddy sighs. "You remember how this *works*. The grief takes you over for hours or days, and there's nothing you can do. There's no way to get away from it. But then life goes on because it has to, and you do your *duty* because you have to, and, somehow, something makes you smile. 

"Something makes you *laugh*. 

"*Nothing* makes you forget — it's bloody impossible to do that — but you're walking new paths in your mind, paths you never walked with the love you lost —" 

"I should've!" And Porthos yanks himself back and drops into a crouch.

And it falls on him. 

Everything that *hadn't* fallen on him last night. 

Everything — 

He'd never kissed the Aramis they'd lost like a lover. 

He'd never so much as touched his *mouth* with his fingertips. 

He'd never so much as *told* that Aramis how *much* he loved him, how much he needed him, how much he lived every day for his and Athos's *smiles*. 

And now.

Now he doesn't just have a new love, he has an entirely new *life*.

"Do you regret it, son...?" And Daddy — *Daddy* — is using that dangerous voice again — 

Daddy needs him to *listen*, but — 

"But *what*." 

Porthos whines and buries his face in his hands. 

Daddy inhales sharply and pushes a hand into Porthos's hair. "Son..." Daddy's voice is much gentler, this time. "Son... up." 

"I —" His voice is too muffled. Porthos moves his hands. "I — I don't know what I'm *doing*, Daddy!" 

"But I do. Up." 

Porthos grunts — 

Blinks — 

And stands, just stands, and waits. 

Daddy looks him over — 

Brushes the tears from his cheeks — 

Porthos shivers — 

"Follow," Daddy says, still in that *gentle* voice — 

Porthos pants and obeys. 

And — Alaire is standing in the hall outside of Porthos's suite with a tray of wine and water. 

He. 

"Sirs." 

Daddy licks his lips. "We... said we were retiring to the study..." 

"Yes. You did." 

Daddy and Alaire stare at each other for long moments — 

Daddy blinks first. "Right you are, Alaire," he says, taking the tray and pushing open the door. "Do enjoy the rest of your evening." 

Porthos isn't up to more than nodding — 

Alaire inclines his head. "Sirs," he says, and leaves. 

Porthos wonders, idly, if Daddy calculates Alaire's yearly bonus based on how many times he makes him piss himself with terror — 

"Absolutely, son. But that's not what we need to talk about. Come in here and sit down." 

"Yes, Daddy," Porthos says, and feels... more than a little lost. 

"I know you do, son," Daddy says, and leads them to the bedroom which *is* starting to feel a little bit like it belongs to Porthos, which is just one more thing — 

One more thing he can't share with the other Aramis. 

One more way he's made a new *life* with *his* Aramis — and everyone else. 

Daddy sits Porthos down at the foot of the bed and tilts his face up. "Athos wanted to make a space where the two of you could have both Aramises."

Porthos groans. "That's a beautiful dream, Daddy." 

"It is. And it should remind you that you're not betraying one for the other." 

"I *know* I'm not —" 

"Do you?" 

Porthos frowns and tries to look down — Daddy won't let him. "Daddy —" 

"*What* have you betrayed with your happiness this past little while, mm?" 

"I —" 

"Which Aramis is it *exactly* who would have you live without love and happiness and hope?" 

Porthos blinks — 

"Which Aramis would have *any* of his loves languish that way — but especially *you*, son. The man who he let — *something* help us all — *shoot things off his head*." 

"Aramis. Our Aramis, I mean." Porthos swallows and blushes — 

Daddy still won't let him look *down* — 

"He said — he said the Aramis we lost did that because it was his *pleasure* to put his life in my hands. Because... I think it was a way for him to tell me he loved me." 

Daddy smiles wryly. "I strongly suspect it was, son." 

Porthos starts weeping again. 

Daddy licks the tears away, slowly and gently. 

"I feel. Part of me feels like I just betrayed both of them." 

"Oh, son..." 

"I know... I know 'm not being *rational* —" 

"No, you're not. You're grieving. And both of them would — and *will* — understand that. The mistake you're making is to try to be absolutely 'perfect' for Aramis." 

"I — he *needs* —" 

"He needs you. All of you. Including the parts of you which break right down." 

And Porthos *thinks* about that —

About *Daddy* and *Jason* — 

About his own relationship with Flea, and how it had nearly fallen apart even *sooner* — because he'd refused to lean on her when he needed to. 

When she needed him to.

Daddy raises his eyebrows. "You learned that lesson back then?" 

"*Yes*." 

"Is Aramis *weaker* than your Flea was —" 

"Bloody *no* —" 

"Does he love you less —" 

"*Fuck* — I get it! I'll lean on him!" 

Daddy smiles warmly and strokes Porthos's face. "Good boy. Good son. Lean on *all* of us, please —" 

"Especially you?" 

"I..." And Daddy's smile turns rueful. "I think you can guess just how much I've needed to take care of my boy..." 

"More than you've needed to *have* me?" 

"Son. Don't rush." 

"Don't *you* *behave* —" 

"Don't hide from your *feelings*," Daddy says, and sits next to him on the bed. "We have all night, mm? I'll take care of you in every *possible* way." 

Porthos takes a breath — 

Licks his lips —

And nods. And hugs Daddy. 

"Thank you for this." 

"You still smell like you fucked an *entire* forest, Daddy." 

Daddy coughs — and nips Porthos's jaw. "Settle down. You smell the exact same way, you know." 

"I also smell *salty* now." 

"Mm, so you do," Daddy says, and rocks him back and forth. 

"Oh." 

"Mm?" 

"No, I. No one's ever..." Porthos blushes and swallows. 

Daddy strokes his hair. "My boy. I'll always take care of you."


	30. School! Now with *way* more eldritch horror than you're used to. Well, I'm assuming.

Aramis paces through Jason's sitting room, studying to see if there have been any changes since this morning — thus far, they have not been invited any deeper into his suite, and — 

And Aramis is very excited. 

*Jason* is in his bedroom doing *something* with his shadow-magic — more than that, Aramis cannot tell — 

And Athos is watching him pace with a small, bright smile on his face. He — 

No. 

Aramis stops in front of him. "What are you *thinking*, my Athos?" 

"That you're beautiful. That knowing you is an incredible gift I haven't been worthy of. That I had not realized anyone else could grow so thrilled for the prospect of being disciplined. That I want to speak to you on this topic at *length* —" 

"Oh — why *don't* you?" 

"Because it isn't *time* for that, Aramis," Jason says, from the doorway of the bedroom. He's smiling warmly, and he has removed his shoes and socks. Just that...

Aramis blushes. "Teacher, what *is* it time for?" 

"Excellent question, Aramis. It's time for *both* of you to have a seat, at the table —" 

"I —" 

"Do *not* interrupt," Jason says, and looks *into* Aramis. 

Aramis *thrills*. "Yes, Teacher. I apologize," he says, and goes to sit. 

Athos sits beside him — 

Jason nods. "Apology accepted. Future transgressions of that sort will be punished, of course — as will other transgressions, once we work out just what they *are*." 

"Oh. You do not know?" 

"I don't know *you* well enough, Aramis. One man's transgression is another man's desperate *need*. Yes...?" 

"Yes, Teacher." 

Athos nods thoughtfully — 

And Jason smiles at both of them. "Good boys. Now, Aramis," Jason says, and moves further into the room. "You wish to be disciplined and you wish to make *amends*. Is there anything else?" 

"I... do not think so, Teacher." 

"No...?" 

"I am not entirely certain," Aramis says, and smiles ruefully. "These thoughts... they had not occurred to me *fully* before." 

"That's entirely reasonable, Aramis," Athos says. "There are any number of reasons why it hurt us that you hadn't told your story to anyone before." 

"Just so," Jason says. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Aramis. This is a difficult path for even experienced travelers, and you, as you've noted, are quite new." 

Aramis nods and lets that sink in. "Yes, Athos. Yes, Teacher. I will take this lesson." 

Athos smiles brightly again — 

And Jason moves still closer, until he can stroke down the side of Aramis's face. "Athos." 

Athos blinks — "Yes, Jason?"

Jason smiles, and then smiles *at* Athos. "We learned last night that Aramis prefers being disciplined with pain, often on his genitals." 

"That's... tantalizing," Athos says, and licks his lips. 

"In multiple directions...?" 

"Quite." 

Aramis *flushes* — 

Jason grins, and strokes Aramis's face again. "I'm *quite* certain that Aramis's genitals are still swollen — perhaps even bruised — from last night." 

Athos turns to *him* — "Are they?" 

Aramis feels himself — small. Rapidly becoming containable in the space between Jason's hands and Athos's. 

"Answer." 

Aramis gasps — and smiles. "Yes, Athos." 

Athos's eyes gleam in entirely human ways — and he grips Aramis's wrist before turning to Jason. "As arousing as this conversation is..." 

"Yes, Athos?" 

"I begin to wonder if disciplining his genitals for *this* is the best choice. It seems to me that for something he sees as such a profound transgression, there should be an equally profound punishment." 

Jason smiles at Athos with *rapacious* pride — 

Aramis's heart is *pounding* — 

"*Excellent* thought, Athos. And now we need Aramis to give us more thoughts on what that might be..." 

"I..." 

"You must tell us, Aramis," Athos says. 

Aramis swallows — 

Flushes more — 

*Sweats* — 

Jason strokes his hair. "You have no options here, Aramis. You must tell us. It is *part* of your discipline." 

Aramis grunts and stares at the *table* — but. 

But.

"It. I must always be honest." 

"Oh, yes," Jason says. 

"Not *only* my Master requires..." 

"Your honesty belongs to *all* of us," Athos says, and his voice is a *growl* — 

"Oh —" 

"You will not hide," Jason says. 

"No, no, I will — not —" 

"You will not *lie*," Athos says. 

"Never! I — my Master let me have my weapons!" And that was more of a blurt than anything else — 

More — 

Aramis is still *sweating* — 

And Jason is cupping the back of Aramis's neck. "Your Master let you have your *freedom*, *too*, I daresay..." 

Aramis *grunts* again — 

His eyes are wide — 

He's staring at *nothing* — 

And then Jason is rubbing the back of Aramis's neck with his rough fingers. "*When* you give your freedom to us, you will be giving us a gift that will be treasured... until it's time for us to give it back."

Oh. 

Aramis licks his lips and — 

And looks to Athos's hand around his wrist — 

And pushes back cautiously into Jason's hand — 

They both squeeze so *warmly* — 

So — 

So *sweetly* — 

And Aramis can breathe. 

"Yes, do that Aramis," Jason says. "Breathe yourself... down." 

"Yes, Teacher," Aramis says, and obeys. 

"Breathe slowly... easily... yes, like that. Good boy. Wonderful boy." 

Aramis breathes and flushes — 

Athos is watching him — 

Jason is monitoring his every *heartbeat* — 

He is safe. 

"Yes, you are... keep breathing." 

Yes...

"Good, good boy..." 

And Aramis feels loose, easy, open — 

Ready and *open* — 

Ready for his *Teacher* — 

"Almost there..." 

He keeps breathing, feeling just a little drunk, feeling hazy and so — 

So *loose* — 

And then Jason exhales *with* him, and there are shadows moving all over him, tugging at his clothes and urging him to stand — 

Aramis laughs delightedly —

Athos smiles at him —

Jason grins — "Are you ready to lose our hands for a time?" 

"Oh — yes!" 

"Are you quite certain...?" 

"Yes, please, Teacher!" 

Jason inclines his head, and both he and Athos pull back just a little — and then the shadows help Aramis undress. 

*Quickly*. 

They are as deft as any fingers, as easy and *sure* — 

Aramis tries to watch them all at once — 

And then he watches Jason, and the small gestures he makes as he studies Aramis with *warm* greed. 

"Who *taught* you how to use the shadows, Teacher? They were not *part* of you when you were young!" 

And Athos turns away from Aramis's increasingly-naked body to focus on Jason —

"No, they were not," Jason says, and makes Aramis's shoes dance across the room — 

Athos hums — 

Aramis laughs helplessly — 

And Jason grins and makes the shadows tug down Aramis's trousers and breeches — 

"Oh —" 

"You're lovely. You're *beautiful*. Never doubt it." 

"Even when I am armed, Teacher...?" 

Jason hums and moves close again, once the shadows have taken Aramis's clothes away. He strokes the blades of the knives Aramis has strapped to him —

He is gentle and careful and *admiring* —

He is *thorough* —

He moves around and *around* Aramis — 

And Athos hums again, and joins Jason in stroking the stiletto Aramis keeps strapped to his left thigh. "I see the expression on your face, Jason, and I believe I know what it means." 

"Do you?" 

"You plan on restraining Aramis in some way that will allow him no freedom whatsoever. Correct?" 

"Oh, yes..." 

Athos nods. "There will be no need to remove *all* of his weapons." 

"Agreed," Jason says, and reaches up to cup Aramis's face. "This beautiful young man only becomes *more* beautiful when he is armed and ready to wreak havoc." 

"Somehow I doubt he lacks readiness to wreak havoc when he is *unarmed*, but..." 

"Just the same, yes," Jason says, and smiles acquisitively. 

Aramis blushes. "I — I will remove my weapons if that is what my Teacher *wills*." 

"It is *not*, Aramis," Jason says firmly, and strokes Aramis's face. His fingers smell like smoke and metal. "It was my thought to bring you to a place of vulnerability in my grasp, but... you've already brought yourself there. Haven't you." 

Aramis blushes harder. "A good student is always *ready* for his Teacher." 

Jason growls — 

"I agree wholeheartedly, Aramis," Athos says, and strokes the dip of Aramis's spine. "A proper student, a *correct* student, must be prepared to *learn*, and thus must be... open." 

Aramis inhales —

Jason cups the back of his neck again — 

Athos cups his *arse* — 

And Aramis moans and thrills, *thrills* — he is being *enjoyed* by his men. He is being enjoyed by his *pack*, and — 

And he is being taught. 

Just a little, so far, but — 

"More will come," Jason says, and licks his ear. 

"Oh —" 

"And we will not stop enjoying you," Athos says, and strokes back up to the daggers strapped to Aramis's back — 

"Not for a *moment*," Jason says, and licks at the sweat *behind* Aramis's ear. "Even when we are removing... *some* of your weapons. Only some." 

"Yes, Teacher." 

"Do you have preferences...?" 

Aramis considers this — the way Jason had asked... 

The question had meant *much* to him. 

It is in his *eyes*. 

Still... "Teacher... I will be *fully* restrained..." 

"You will." 

"Then you may take any of my weapons —" 

Jason holds up two fingers. 

Aramis blinks. "No, Teacher...?" 

"The fact that you will not be able to get to any of your weapons will not change... let us call it the *emotional* component," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. "I *highly* recommend you retain the weapons which give you the most... comfort." And he strokes the blade along Aramis's right bicep. 

Aramis shivers and nods. "This makes sense. My Teacher is wise in the workings of men. I *do* wish to keep the blades on my arms — unless this will inconvenience my *men*." 

"Not at all," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow at Athos. 

"Absolutely not," Athos says, and smiles. "And I desperately want to see you making love with Porthos with those blades on." 

Aramis beams — "I will ask my mate for this thing." 

Jason hums with pleasure and gestures the shadows into action again. They remove every last one of Aramis's weapons except for the blades on his arms, and set them neatly aside — 

When Aramis checks, it seems as though the shadows are cleaning and *sharpening* the blades — 

"Oh, they absolutely are." 

"Oh! Thank you, Teacher!" 

Jason smiles. "You're quite welcome. I'd be more than willing to provide all sorts of... difficult-to-obtain poisons and curses for your weapons whenever you wish..." 

Aramis thrills — 

Purrs — 

"I understand that reaction with all of myself," Athos says, and huffs —

"You're both making me *exquisitely* happy," Jason says. "Follow," he says, and walks into the bedroom. 

Aramis and Athos obey — 

Athos's hand is steady and sure at the small of Aramis's back — 

And... 

Jason's bedroom is very dark, very... 

It is *impossible* to be certain what is or is *not* on the walls, because the shadows are so *thick*. 

There is light —- four balls of raw and, of course, *eldritch* flame floating several feet above the bed, but everything else is darkness — 

Living darkness — 

Wild and heated and *eager* darkness — 

Aramis reaches toward the thickest shadows — and they reach back, coiling around his fingertips and teasing, urging...

Aramis steps closer — 

"Not that, Aramis," Jason says, and smiles at him from next to the bed.

"Oh — no?" He looks to Jason, and *tugs* his fingers away from the shadows — 

Athos is eyeing the shadows warily — 

Jason beckons them close. "We can absolutely experiment with giving you to the shadows which have... accrued in this suite over the years of me doing workings in here, but it wouldn't be quite the same as *me* making love with you." 

Aramis *blinks* — 

Athos raises an eyebrow high — 

Jason laughs softly. "This does dovetail with your earlier question, Aramis. Come, lie down. Supine, at the center of the bed." 

"Yes, Teacher," Aramis says, and obeys quickly, stretching himself out somewhat spread-eagle — 

"Oh, perfect..." And Jason strokes a firm, appreciative line down the center of Aramis's chest and abdomen, stopping before he reaches his cock — 

Aramis shivers — 

And Jason turns to Athos, who is studying Aramis hungrily from the foot of the bed. "I believe you'll find what you're looking for across from me, Athos." 

Athos blinks — 

Looks — 

Aramis turns, as well — and the bedside table has gained a small collection of whips while they were not paying *attention*. 

Athos hums and strokes them appreciatively. "I believe I would like to visit all of your storage facilities, Jason." 

"That could — mostly — be arranged." 

"'Mostly...?'" 

"Some of them are kept entirely airless and at temperatures rather *unpleasant* for humanity, Athos." 

Athos snorts. "I take your point. 'Most' is more than well enough for me. But Aramis's question?" 

Aramis turns back to Jason — tries to. Once he is staring directly upward, into the swirling blackness of the shadows, he can't move his head in *any* direction!

He can't move *any* part of his body! 

He cannot — 

"Aramis," Jason says, in a low, rich, *firm* voice. "Breathe." 

"I —" 

"No. You will not struggle. You will not fight. You will breathe." 

Oh — 

He was fighting his Teacher!

He was — 

He is safe. 

There are no enemies here. There is no one he needs to fight. There are no enemies here. 

He breathes — it is unconscionably shaky. 

He tries again — 

Again — 

"Let's try this," Jason says, and shadows peel from all corners of the room and *come* for Aramis — 

*Fly* for him — 

Wrap his wrists, ankles, thighs, throat, and *forehead* *tightly* in silk and smoke and — 

Oh. 

Oh...

"So that *is* better... good to know," Jason says, and sits on the bed beside him. 

"I — I — you do not have to use the shadows if you do not wish to, Teacher —" 

"Oh, no, Aramis, I had *planned* to use the shadows *eventually*. They aren't *entirely* me, but they're rather *enough* of me that... well. You're touching me *everywhere* as we speak..." 

"Oh... Teacher..." 

"Yes...? You like that?" 

"I wish to please my Teacher!" 

"You're doing an excellent job of it. Already so calm... we'll have to explore your reaction to the shadows in *depth*." 

"I'm now desperately curious," Athos says, and there is a *wicked* smile in his voice — Aramis cannot see his face. 

"I *promise* to do my *level* best to alleviate that," Jason says, and gestures — 

Athos grunts — 

"Oh — what —" 

Athos *groans* — 

The chair next to the bed *creaks* — 

"Tell him, Athos. Tell him what I'm doing to you." 

"You make that sound. Remarkably... easy to do..." And Athos huffs — 

And huffs — 

And groans *again* —

Aramis is hard and *curious* — 

*Hungry* — 

"Aramis." And Athos *pants* — 

The chair beside the bed creaks and *thumps*, as if Athos has all but thrown himself *into* it — 

Aramis can't *see* — 

"*Aramis*," Athos says, "Jason has forced a shadow into my trousers. Into my *breeches*. And the shadow is manipulating my *cock*." 

Aramis *moans* — but. "Firmly?" 

"*Brutally*." 

"Oh, *Teacher*..." 

"Well, I didn't want to bore him." 

Aramis giggles — 

Athos huffs repeatedly and *groans* — 

And Jason sighs. "You're both remarkably beautiful — and tempting beyond all reason. But there are some things we need to clear up before we truly begin..." 

"Yes, Teacher?" 

Athos moans — 

Gasps — 

"I was not in the least prepared for that to stop," Athos says and snorts again. 

Aramis does not let himself count —

Jason laughs again — and strokes Aramis's cheek with his long fingers. "I promise I won't make *any* of us wait *very* long," he says, and strokes down to Aramis's mouth. "You wanted to know how I learned the shadows..." 

"Oh — yes, Teacher!" 

"I'm also curious about that, I must admit," Athos says. "You have no communication whatsoever with the shadow-being within you?" 

"Not even when I take his form to do the more complicated shadow-workings, Athos. He is... no, 'quiescent' is not the right word for it. He is there, and alive, and *awake*. *Just* as awake as Etrigan and me. Just as *focused* on the world and everything in it — or so it seems. But he does not respond so much as allowing Etrigan and *me* to respond *using* his power. It is *always* at our fingertips, and requires no *feeding* from us save for what we do to feed ourselves normally." 

"And yet you do not consider the power your own...?" 

"It isn't, Athos. We can *never* forget that there is a third being within us — living and breathing and seeing and feeling and everything *else* within us — and not only because his presence makes our touch *anathemic* to every child of the All-Mother who does not deign to curse themselves *for* us." 

Aramis considers — "Why is this?" 

Jason strokes Aramis's lips again. "He may not *speak* to us, Aramis, but we *always* feel him. We are *never* unaware of our third. It would be like being unaware..." But Jason trails off. 

"Teacher?" 

"Every example I think of is too enervating to express the truth of the shadow-being. He is not a weight on us — not even as much of a weight as we were on each *other* in the early decades. He is simply there, and his gifts to us are *gifts*. Aramis, your power will not allow you to perceive the shadows in this room as anything but fragments of another living being, entirely separate from *everyone* else you have met, yes?" 

"Oh — yes, Teacher!" 

"And you, Athos, would never perceive Aramis's presence as being Porthos's, yes?" 

"Not at all — ah. I believe I see what you're trying to say."

"Yes, Teacher," Aramis says. "The shadow-being is your equal, and we must always consider him such —" 

"One moment," Athos says, "and please, Aramis, forgive me for interrupting." 

"Of course, my Athos." 

Athos strokes his hand — 

His fingers are so rough — 

So firm and gentle — 

So — 

"I *may* have been studying how Porthos touches you..." And there is another wicked smile in his voice. 

Aramis blushes and smiles ruefully. "I like... certain things..." 

"So do I, Aramis," Athos says, and strokes him again. "So do we all. There is no shame in that." 

"Did your father teach you this...?"

Athos hums. "Yes. My father *Laurent d'Achille de la Fère*. He was very, very clear about the fact that every person had preferences, predilections, and *tastes*, and that so long as they did not bring undesired harm to anyone else, there was no reason for — and no use *in* — condemning oneself for them." 

Aramis shivers — 

"I am curious, Athos," Jason says. 

"Mm? Oh — I believe I can guess: No, I have *not* always been able to remember that lesson. Or believe in its fundamental truth." 

"Why not?" 

This huff is wry. "I have been afflicted with the sense that I am... special, Jason. In remarkably terrible ways. I never doubted that the rest of the world deserved my father's wisdom and good sense, but..." 

"Noted. What can we do about that." 

"I'm rather hoping for regular beatings. Our father has mentioned that they do wonders for him." 

Jason laughs hard. "They *do*. But are you that sort of man, Athos...? Truly? Or will you... take those punishments onto yourself. *Into* yourself." 

Athos strokes Aramis's hand again — 

Again — 

"I believe I have the capacity to be just that *incorrect*. I also believe that you — all of you — will inspire me to reach beyond that every day." 

"Do you understand that you may always have *assistance* when you need it, Athos?" 

"I —" 

"Do you understand that there is no *failing* in needing assistance...?"

"Hm." 

Aramis blushes — 

And Jason laughs softly. "We'll *all* work on that one. But I believe you had a question for me, Athos." 

"Oh — yes. How do you *know* the shadow-being is male?" 

"It's rather an educated guess, at this point." 

"By which you mean you *don't* know." 

"Just so. I would expect there to be certain differences to the *feel* of a female being's power, but the *shadow*-being is like no other being I have ever known. For all I know, the way 'he' presents himself to me may be the way 'his' species's females present." 

Athos *caresses* Aramis's hand — "Thank you." 

"You're quite welcome. Back to your question, Aramis..." And Jason caresses his *mouth*. 

Aramis kisses his hand — 

"Oh, very sweet. Good boy..." 

"Thank you, Teacher!" 

"Mm." Jason caresses him again — 

Again and again — 

Aramis *kisses* him again and again — 

"This is quite addictive," Jason says. 

Athos hums. "I can see the appeal..." 

"A perfect mouth made even more perfect by Porthos's... attentions..." 

"Was he vicious...?"

"More... passionate. He lost control." 

Athos hums. "When Aramis was mouthing his knot?" 

"Just so. And *especially* so when Aramis *scraped* the growing knot with his teeth." 

"That's perfectly — mm." 

"Agreed..."

And Aramis can feel them both *looking* at him — 

*Studying* him — 

Aramis blushes and blushes — 

He hasn't been spoken about like this — 

Spoken about and — 

*Described* — 

He hasn't *allowed* himself to have two lovers at once — 

He hasn't allowed himself *lovers* — 

"Aramis...?"

Jason rests his strong, hard hand on Aramis's throat. "Aramis. Breathe." 

"I — I apologize!" 

"Shh. It's quite all right, Aramis. This is a new experience, and we have taken away *most* of your ability to comfort yourself." 

"I..." 

"And," Athos says, "you are not yet accustomed to accepting comfort from others. I know rather a lot about that." 

Oh. Yes, he does. 

Both of them will teach him. 

Both of his men *are* teaching him — 

"That's right, Aramis," Jason says. "Breathe yourself back down." 

Aramis studies the roiling shadows above the bed and does just that. 

He wants more lessons. 

He wants — 

He wants to know why he was so *agitated* by the way his men were *speaking*!

*Jason* hums. "Will the lack of that knowledge keep you from relaxing...?" 

"I — yes, Teacher." 

"Very well. We were, to some extent, treating you as a beautiful and treasured sexual *object*. An *admired* object, to be sure, but still an object. You are defensive about the brothel in your past, even with people you *know* to hold prostitutes in high esteem —" 

"Oh. I apologize! I apologize to both of you!" 

"You need not," Athos says, and squeezes his hand — 

"You truly don't," Jason says, and squeezes his throat, gently and firmly. "We truly should have known better. Even Teachers make mistakes." 

"I..." 

"We will both endeavor not to make *this* one again," Athos says. 

"Just so." 

"I..." Aramis licks his lips —

Squeezes Athos's hand in return — 

Pushes his throat into Jason's grip — and realizes he can move!

He has been given freedom!

He — 

But... "Teacher... I. Do you wish for me to move?" 

Jason leans over enough that Aramis can see his warm smile. "You were straining, Aramis. I wanted to see *why*." 

"Oh." 

"You wanted to give yourself to us..." 

"Yes. Yes, please, Teacher." 

"Mm. Did you think I wouldn't allow for that?" 

He does not want to *wait* — but. "My Teacher will teach me patience...?" 

Jason grins. "I'm certainly going to try. But do you need to touch us in any other ways before I bind you again?" 

Aramis shivers and tries to — 

He must be good! He must — 

"Behaving, in this context, consists of you doing precisely what you most *need* to do, Aramis," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis breathes. "Yes, Teacher. I... I will think." 

"Do that," Jason says, and strokes him —

Caresses with his *hard* hands — 

Strokes him everywhere he can *reach* — 

His hands are greedy, *firm*, *sure* — but Athos keeps himself to only Aramis's hand, and a bit of his wrist. 

And Aramis knows what he needs. 

Jason hums. "Yes, Aramis?" 

"I need Athos to be closer, my Teacher. I need — I do *not* need to move. I do *not* need to touch. But I need to be able to *see* both of you, and *be* touched by both of you, and — and be *taught* by both of you." 

Athos squeezes his hand firmly. "And you're quite certain of this." 

"Yes, my Athos." 

Jason looks to Athos. "I believe you belong on this bed, Athos..." 

"I believe you're absolutely right, Jason," Athos says, and the bed sinks on Aramis's left as Athos kneels beside him — and cups Aramis's cheek. "I want to touch you everywhere. I want to discipline you. I want to teach you that you were never... incorrect." 

Aramis takes a breath — and flushes and smiles. "Thank you, my Athos." 

"Begin by acclimating him to your touch," Jason says. 

"As you say," Athos says, and then both of them are touching him — 

Stroking him everywhere — 

Athos cups Aramis's swollen balls and hums appreciatively — 

Jason pinches Aramis's nipples — 

Aramis tries to arch — he can't. He is being held, once more. 

All over — 

All *over*, just like the powerful hands of his *men* — 

Aramis smiles and takes it — 

Takes it — 

"Good boys," Jason says. "Both of you. But on to your much-delayed answer, Aramis: When the shadow-being formed within us, and made itself known via a *burgeoning* of shadow-magery within us, Etrigan and I were rather shocked into good behaviour. We had been warring for decades — throwing around vast amounts of power and endangering the lives of both ourselves and *others* —" 

"*Oh* —"

"Truly, Jason?" 

"*Oh*, yes," Jason says, and neither of them *stop*. "We were a couple of pillocks, and *none* of you would have given us the time of day. The coming of the shadow-being rather slapped some *sense* into us." 

"Yes...?" 

"Oh, yes, Athos. By spending decades and incalculably vast amounts of power trying to eject each other from our soul, we had gained *another* being in it. A being we knew nothing about, save for his *large* amount of power and inability — or unwillingness — to communicate in any way with *us*. The lesson was not a difficult one to pick *up*," Jason says, and massages the sides of Aramis's throat, pressing directly on Porthos's scars. 

Aramis moans helplessly — 

"As an aside, Aramis, when Porthos licks your wounds healed *now*, there will be *very* minimal scarring unless you *work* at it. Keep that in mind for the next time you make love. This goes for you, too, Athos." 

"Oh — thank you, Jason." 

"Yes, thank you, Teacher!" 

"You're both quite welcome," Jason says, and pushes his hands into Aramis's hair — 

Tugs — 

Hums — "But I was saying," he says, as he moves down Aramis's body — 

As Athos moves *up* — 

Athos kisses him *fiercely* — 

Jason holds Aramis so still that all he can do is moan incoherently — he can't even kiss *back*! 

And when Athos *realizes* this... he kisses Aramis even harder — 

He bites, he growls, he *sucks* Aramis's lips and bites all over Aramis's face — 

Aramis tries to shout *yes*, but it comes out hopelessly *slurred* — 

Athos *grunts* and kneels up. "That is *obscene*." 

Jason laughs filthily. "Isn't it...? But here," he says — 

And Aramis can move his mouth again. "Oh — oh, thank you! Both of you!" 

Athos growls and pets Aramis's *face* fiercely — 

Jason spreads Aramis's legs wider *apart* — 

Aramis *moans* — 

"Where was I...? Oh, yes, we'd learned our *lesson*," Jason says, and rubs and circles Aramis's swollen *hole* — 

Aramis whimpers, cock jerking again and again — 

"Oh, Aramis..." And Athos *grips* Aramis's swollen *cock* — 

Aramis *howls* — 

Jason purrs. "Beautiful. Do try to do that as often as possible." 

Athos grins. "I believe I can help him with that." 

"Perfect, though wait just one moment." 

"As you say," Athos says, and *loosens* his grip — 

Aramis *sobs* — 

"Oh, Aramis..." Athos wets his lips. "You're incredible." 

Aramis shivers — 

Aches — 

He is so *sensitive* — 

He is so — 

He does not usually have *sex* multiple nights in a row — 

He never weakens himself this *much* — 

But he is safe. 

"That's right, Aramis. I will protect you," Jason says. "We will *all* protect you." And he has left himself open, easy to read, honest — 

So honest — 

So *strong* — 

"We will never leave you alone, should it be remotely in our power to avoid it," Athos says.

Everyone here is so strong, so competent, so powerful, so — 

Worthy. 

Aramis flushes hard — 

He wants Athos to squeeze him again — 

Again and again!

He wants to be fucked, whipped bloody — 

He wants to be left unfit for *anything* tomorrow — tonight!

Because he can be. 

He *can* be!

And his men smile at him — smile so wide!

And he knows, he *knows* that his Porthos would smile for this, too, his Porthos always wants softer things for him, happier things, *relaxation* — 

His Porthos would be proud! 

"Yes," Athos says, and caresses Aramis's cheek with his free hand. "He would be. And overjoyed." 

"You are teaching me! You are both teaching me! Please more!" 

Jason *grins*. "I *was* going to teach you more about how I learned to use the shadow-magery, but to be *quite* honest, I'm growing *impatient*." 

"Oh — Teacher, anything! Anything!" 

"In *brief*: Etrigan and I *examined* the shadow-being as thoroughly as we could, as *cautiously* as we could, over the course of about a year. We made common cause during that year, through our horror and chagrin — neither of us had seen anything like that *coming*. And, every time we examined the being which existed between us, the *power* was there. For the *sharing*. For the *using*. It was precisely the same as when Etrigan used my blood-magery, or when I used his fire-magery — though, in the past, this had only happened during emergencies that threatened *both* our lives. And, if anything, it was *easier* — as if the shadow-being had an affinity with both nominally-human witches and fire-demons. All of this, in combination with the various tips, tricks, and lore an immortal mage picks up about all *sorts* of magery over the years made learning the *use* of shadow-magery almost... easy." 

Aramis blinks — 

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

Jason laughs softly. "Yes, that was even *more* disturbing. On to *business*."

Athos grins. "I'm very eager to hear the next words out of your mouth, Jason." 

"As am I!" 

Jason licks his teeth. "You're both *precisely* what I want," he says, and begins circling Aramis's hole again.

"Oh —" 

"But let's speak about discipline. Aramis, *have* you been whipped pleasurably?" 

"Oh, yes, Teacher! I had known from the time I was a boy that there were those that enjoyed it, those that took great joy and great *relief* from it. I *resented* the priests for ruining this thing for me, and so, after I killed them all, I became determined to take it back for myself." 

Athos and Jason look at him... hungrily. 

Greedily. 

With so much *pleasure*!

"This is well?"

"It's perfect," Athos says, and, "Jason, may I...?" 

"*Do* squeeze his cock, yes, but only once. We're going to make him spend in other ways," he says, and pulls his fingers away — 

And Athos squeezes — 

And Aramis *screams* — 

And Jason sets his hand *ablaze* — 

And Aramis *chokes* on his scream — 

His cock is leaking so *much* — 

He is so *hard* — 

His balls are *tight* — 

Jason extinguishes the flames and squeezes Aramis's balls with his *heated* hand —

Aramis sobs — 

Tries and fails to *writhe* — 

Leaks more and more and *more* — 

Clenches so — 

"Release him *now*," Jason says, and they *both* do — 

Aramis gasps — 

Gasps *again* — 

His cock is twitching and *jerking* — 

"Would you mind terribly if I tasted him, Jason?" 

"Not at all, Athos. In fact..." And Jason swipes slick from Aramis's belly with two fingers — 

Sucks them — 

Athos does the same — 

They hum and slurp — 

Aramis shivers and *pants* — 

And Jason tugs his fingers free. "The scourge, I think, Athos." 

"Yes? I have experience with the crop, as well." 

"*Do* you. I'll just keep *that* in mind," Jason says, and traces Aramis's mouth with his wet fingers. "Athos will whip you, and then I will. And for every stroke of the whip, you will apologize." 

"Oh — yes, Teacher! Yes, Athos!" 

"When the whipping is over, your punishment will be complete, Aramis. You will no longer have this stain upon you." 

"I. I..." 

Jason smiles softly, and caresses Aramis's face. "I know. You may not feel that way. You *will* need to be disciplined again, and again, and again — and we will give you that happily —" 

"But —" 

"Shh. Only this: The mind does not always see reality, as opposed to the afterimages and, yes, stains, of a past that has marked us indelibly. Even once you are free of error in the eyes of all who matter to you, your own eyes will be occluded. Do you see?" 

"I... yes, Teacher. I wish to learn better than this. I wish to *be* better than this." 

"That will take time, and love, and companionship, and care." 

"And not discipline?" 

Jason — *Teacher* — smiles wickedly. "I was including that in the care, Aramis. You will have all of that. You will have everything. It — all of it — is yours." 

Aramis shivers again — and smiles. "Yes, Teacher. I am ready." 

"Very good," Teacher says, and strokes his face — 

Athos strokes his hair — "You'll have difficulty seeing me clearly while I'm whipping you, Aramis. Are you ready for that?" 

Aramis moans — and looks at Athos *closely*. Looks at his deep blue eyes — 

His *wild* blue eyes — 

His *hungry* — 

"You *wish* to discipline me." 

"I wish to give you everything you desire, Aramis. Everything you *need*." 

"I — brother?"

Athos's smile is *mad*. "Brother..." Athos *grips* Aramis's hair. "I will be worthy of your brotherhood every day you *allow* me to prove myself." 

Aramis beams — 

He cannot help himself — 

He does not — 

He does not know how all of this has *happened* — no. He *does* know, and it's all too much, too much to ask for — 

Too much for *him* — 

Teacher presses his thumb to Aramis's mouth. "There are times when we simply are given gifts, Aramis. It is best to appreciate them while we have them. To live in them, and love in them, and *wallow* in them against the lean times — because the lean times will come to us all again, someday." And then Jason moves his thumb. 

Aramis breathes —

Thinks — 

"My Teacher, my brother..." 

"We're listening," Teacher says, and strokes Aramis's mouth — 

Athos tugs Aramis's hair gently. "We're listening to everything you wish to say." 

Aramis smiles helplessly — but. "I want... I *know* that all of you have been careful not to speak so much about the Aramis you lost around me, except when I have *asked* about him." And Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

Athos smiles wryly. "None of us wish to oppress you with our memories, brother." 

"No, and I know this thing, my Athos, my *brother*. I *know* this thing. You will care for me. You will give me your discipline, your teaching, your time, your attention, your... your love," Aramis says, and flushes deeply. 

Teacher growls, and it seems to come from every *shadowed* part of the room. "You will never lack for *any* of those things." 

"And *more*, Aramis. So much —" *Athos* growls. "Please. Tell us what you need to." 

Aramis breathes — 

And breathes — and lets go of the very last part of himself which imagined it could go back to that other sphere — 

That other life — 

Those empty *houses*. "Please," he says, "give me your *grief*. Give me your — please. You all have shown me comfort, and care, and *love*. You all have shown me how to *take* care of someone you love very much, and I wish to do this thing! I wish to show what I have *learned*. And —" 

"Aramis —" 

"*And*, *Athos*, I will not truly be your brother, I will not truly belong to *any* of you until you let me have *this*," Aramis says, and does *not* use his power to will them both to believe it — 

Teacher laughs softly. "Thank you *very* much for that, Aramis," he says, and caresses his cheek again — 

"Yes, quite," Athos says, gripping Aramis's hair *tightly* and stroking his chest with the *scourge*!

Aramis gasps — 

"We will give you everything, brother," Athos says, low and firm and — hungry. 

"You will never want with us," Teacher says, and smiles broadly. "Not for very long, anyway." 

Aramis shivers and smiles — "You will talk to me? You will — and my Porthos and Treville —" 

"I know for a fact that mon amant is in the *process* of explaining to Porthos that he must share his grief with you —" 

"Oh!" 

"Treville will not be a hypocrite — ever." 

Aramis beams — "Thank you, my Teacher!" 

"You're welcome," Teacher says, and reaches down to grip Aramis's cock — 

So hard — 

So *hard* — 

Aramis whimpers — 

"We'll not be thinking about such things *just* yet, Aramis..." 

"Nuh — oh, Teacher!" 

"It's time for you to be disciplined. It's time for you to begin *apologizing*." 

"Yes! *Yes*!" 

"Are you ready to be able to *see* less of us?" 

Aramis groans and tries to arch, tries to *give* himself — 

Teacher growls — "I feel that all through me... but you'll have to answer in *words*, Aramis." 

"Yes, my Teacher! Please, my Athos, begin disciplining me!" 

Athos grunts — 

*Yanks* Aramis's hair — 

Aramis's cock *jerks* — 

"Very, very good," Teacher says. "You're doing beautifully. And we're stepping back... now." 

Aramis flushes and takes a deep breath as Teacher and Athos move — 

"That's good, brother... that's perfect," Athos says. "Do keep that up while I'm striking you, as much as you can." 

"Yes, brother!" 

"Though... mm," Athos says, and drags the tails of the scourge over and over Aramis's torso — 

His throat — 

His arm — 

His cock and *balls* — 

"Please!" 

"Shh," Athos says. "Breathe." 

"Oh — yes, brother," Aramis says, and obeys — 

Obeys — 

He will be *good*! 

"Jason," Athos says, "I believe he will quickly grow breathless while apologizing." 

"Mm, yes. It *will* make a sustained whipping more difficult, but we have time. We'll be able to pause, from time to time." 

"Very well," Athos says, and *strikes* — 

Right — 

Right on Aramis's left *thigh* — 

All Aramis can do is *gasp* — no. "I apologize!" 

"Very good," Athos says — 

"Faster next time," Jason says, and sounds as though he is relaxing — 

"Thank you, brother! *Yes*, Teacher!" 

Athos hums and strokes him with the scourge's tails again — 

Strokes him so — 

So *promisingly* — 

"Jason has pulled a very comfortable-looking — if shadow-wreathed — chair out of nothingness for himself. Every few moments, it reaches for *us*." 

"I..." 

Athos huffs. "Keep breathing." 

Jason laughs. "Yes, do." 

Aramis obeys — 

Breathes himself down and down until he is drunk on his own readiness, on the sting and *promise* of the welt on his thigh, on the looming *presence* of the shadows and of his *men* — 

"Perfect," Athos says, and strikes him just below his *nipples* — 

"Ahn! I apologize! Please! Please!" 

"Very good. Please *what*." 

"Please *more*!" 

"Of course," Athos says, and strikes again — Aramis's arm — 

Again — 

Aramis's *shin* — 

"I apologize! I *apologize*!" 

Athos purrs and strokes the welt on Aramis's arm with his rough fingers — 

And Teacher hums. "What are you apologizing for, Aramis...?" 

Aramis blinks — for a moment he cannot think! 

He cannot *remember*!

He is *wrong* — and then he remembers, it all comes back, he remembers the way he didn't run from that — that so-called *school* — 

He remembers being wrong as a *boy* — 

But how could he have *forgotten*?

"Be easy, Aramis," Teacher says. "This is entirely reasonable. You've never been disciplined *this* way before." 

"I — but —" 

"You've allowed yourself shallow discipline," Teacher says. "Nothing that could *truly* touch the heart of you." 

"Except, of course, for what you had with Porthos last night," Athos says, and proceeds to stroke *all* the welts with his rough fingers — 

Aramis moans and shivers and breathes, tries to *breathe* — 

"For just a moment, the pleasure and comfort you were taking in being whipped was taking you *away* from what you wanted to be whipped *for*," Teacher says. 

"Oh — Teacher... I will do better! Please teach me how!" 

"You must hold to the error you wish to correct, Aramis. This *will* become difficult, and there *will* come a point when you *must* let go... but we will tell you when you have reached that point." 

Aramis moans more — 

*More* — 

Athos *grips* Aramis's welted shin — 

"*Oh* —" 

"Will you be able to do that, brother...?" 

"Oh, yes, brother, yes!" 

Teacher purrs again. "Good boys. *Beautiful* boys. Remember, Aramis: There will be an end, and *we* will define it." 

Aramis's cock *jerks* again — 

He smiles — 

"*Yes*, Teacher," he says, and remembers his — his *error* — 

Remembers not running — 

Remembers the shame of it — 

Oh — 

"Please! Please discipline —" 

Athos growls again and strikes Aramis's *cock* — 

Aramis *howls* — 

"*Apologize*." 

He must, he must — "I am sorry, I am so —" 

Athos strikes his chest again, and his belly — 

"I am sorry! I'm sorry!" 

"Good boy, *breathe*," Athos says, and strokes him with the tails of the scourge — 

Aramis shudders and breathes — 

Breathes — 

Remembers his *shame* and *sobs* — 

Athos inhales *sharply* — 

"Yes, Athos," Teacher says. "We will not pause." 

"Agreed," Athos says, and strikes Aramis's *throat* — 

"HNH — I'm sorry! Please —" 

Athos strikes Aramis's throat *again* — 

Strikes both of his *thighs* — 

"Please, please, *yes* —" 

"*Apologize*!" 

Aramis sobs again — 

*Again* — 

"I apologize, I am sorry, I am so sorry, please *punish* —" 

Athos strikes Aramis's belly *twice* — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

Tries to *writhe* — 

He must remember his shame, his *error*, his — 

His — 

"*Apologize*," Athos says — *growls*, and Aramis is covered with gooseflesh — 

Aramis is gasping and aching — 

His cock is leaking everywhere — 

He can't remember how to *speak* — and then Teacher makes the shadow around his throat solidify more, *tighten* more — 

So much *more* — 

"HNK —" 

"Oh — what —" 

"I've taken away his ability to speak and breathe for the moment," Teacher says. 

"I see. This should help him gain control of himself." 

"Would it help you, Athos...?" 

"Absolutely. Please feel free to use that method with me *whenever* you feel it would be appropriate," Athos says, and the smile in his voice is wild, hungry, *eager* — 

Teacher laughs so *happily* — 

Aramis's men are happy!

"Mm. That's just right, Aramis," Teacher says. "And we're happy with *you*." 

"Oh, yes," Athos says, and *claws* at the welts on Aramis's belly — 

Aramis tries and fails to *gasp* — 

"Shh. Not that, Aramis. Just think about your control. Think about *apologizing* for your *error*." 

Oh, Teacher — yes. *Yes*. 

Aramis does just that, gives himself *over* to just that, and — 

And thinking about *apologizing* for his error... 

It is not the same as thinking *about* his error. It is not so painful, not so hurtful, not so — 

It is... exhilarating. 

It is tempting, hungry-making, *tantalizing* — doesn't each apology earn another strike? 

Another acknowledgment that he is *worthy* of another strike? 

More discipline, more *care* — 

"Oh... brother..." And Athos strokes him with the scourge *and* his rough hand — sweaty now. 

"Yes, you're doing perfectly, Aramis," Teacher says. "You're ready." 

Oh!

"Take a *breath* — a deep one — and *then* apologize." 

*Yes*, Teacher!

"Perfect brother..." 

"Wonderful boy..." And Teacher loosens the shadow — 

Aramis breathes deep — 

Exhales — 

Shivers and shivers — "I'm sorry! I apologize for my *error*. Please *correct* me!" 

"*Happily*," Athos says, and then the strikes come fast, so fast — 

Aramis gasps — 

They're on his legs — 

His arms and throat and chest and belly — 

His — 

They are *not* on his genitals, and they ache, they *ache* — 

He is jerking and leaking and he *wants* — 

But he must *apologize*! "I'm sorry! I apologize! I apologize for doing *wrong*. I am so — so — *please*! Please, more!" 

"I want to whip you for *hours*," Athos says, and strikes his throat again — 

Aramis *shouts*, cock *spasming* — 

"You know what to *do*, brother," Athos says, and keeps *striking* him all *over* — 

"Please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I will — I will never —" Aramis sobs and can't writhe, can't fight, can't — 

He can only *surrender* — 

Every part of him is *alive*, and he can only *surrender* — 

*Teacher* gasps — 

Stands and looms above him — 

Athos is still *whipping* him — 

Aramis must — 

Must apologize — 

Must hold on and *apologize* — 

"You can do it, brother," Athos says, and strikes his *nipple* — 

Aramis *screams* — "I apologize! Thank you! Thank you! Please, I am so grateful!" And Aramis's cheeks are wet — 

He is panting — 

He licks his lips, looking for the taste of his tears —

"Thank you so much! Please! Please, I'm sorry — I — *thank* you!" 

Athos growls. "Jason..." 

"Yes. *Now*," Teacher says, and reaches across the bed — 

Athos hands him the scourge — and then strokes and pets Aramis everywhere he had *whipped* him — 

"Oh — oh, my brother!" 

Athos growls again — "You're *perfect*." 

"Please! Please, I need more discipline!" 

Athos *pants* — "So you do," he says, and smiles *hungrily* — 

And bites Aramis's *mouth* — 

"MM!" Aramis can't *buck* — 

His body keeps *trying* — 

His cock is leaking so *much* — 

And then Athos pulls back. "Give everything to our Teacher, Aramis. *Everything*." 

"Yes, brother!" 

Athos grins *madly*, ferociously — and pulls back — 

And Teacher does not *wait* before he strikes Aramis's *balls* — 

Aramis *howls* — 

"You need not apologize anymore..." 

"I need discipline! Please!" 

"You will *thank* me for your discipline. For *providing* precisely what you need." 

"Oh, Teacher!" And Aramis beams with his sore mouth — 

Pants and tries to even his *breathing* — 

"No, I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Teacher says, and strikes his balls *again* — 

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you!" 

*Again* — 

Aramis's cock *spasms* — 

Aramis *sobs* — "Please! Thank you — I — *please*!" 

"Beautiful..." And Athos sounds so hungry, so *hungry*..." 

"Please, please, I must please both of you!" 

"Did you think you weren't...?" 

"I —" 

"I assure you," Teacher says, and strikes Aramis's balls *again* — 

Aramis *screams* — 

Athos *growls* — 

"I *assure* you, Aramis," Teacher says, and licks his *lips*, "you're positively sucking us *both* off at once." 

Aramis gasps a laugh — 

"*Beautiful*," Athos says, cupping Aramis's throat and staring down into his eyes — "So *beautiful*." 

And in his voice, it almost sounds like an accusation, a crime — 

"I am *grateful* and *stunned*," Athos says, and it sounds like a *threat* — 

Aramis is so hungry — 

So — 

"Please, I must serve!" 

*Teacher* growls, growls from all corners of the *room* — "Then let go when I tell you to. Release everything and *spend* when I tell you to." 

"Oh, Teacher —" 

"*Do* it," Athos says. "Let us *taste* you on the *air*." 

"Yes, Teacher! Yes, brother!" 

"Here," Teacher says, and whips Aramis's cock — 

Strikes him so — 

The *burn* of it is so — 

No, he must — "Thank you!"

Teacher strikes him again and Aramis is spattering *everything* — 

Again and again and — 

And Aramis trips over his words, shouts and screams his words, *sobs* his words — 

Tries and fails to *arch* — 

He is jerking, twitching, *leaking* — 

He is *helpless*!

He is being made *more* helpless, being made into someone who will not be able to fight for himself, who must be *protected* — 

"By *us*," Athos says — 

He is being made small, so small — 

So — 

"Thank you!" Aramis cries, and the words are barely words, they are choked, desperate, lost in his *sobs* — 

Athos is kissing him again — 

*Biting* him — 

Teacher is striking him again and again — 

Aramis howls and tries — 

Tries not to lose control too *soon* — 

He is small, he is *small* — 

He belongs to his *men* — 

"*Good* boy," Teacher says, with such *relish*! "*Now* spend. Lose yourself. *Give* yourself to *us*." 

Aramis *screams* again, and he doesn't know if it's for the strike of the whip or for the words or for being so small, so perfectly *small* — 

But Athos bites his lip again and growls — 

And Teacher pants and gleams *red* at him with his bloody-fiery *eyes* — 

Teacher *strikes* — 

So hot, so hot — 

And Aramis *chokes* on his scream and spurts, spurts and spurts — 

Oh!

Teacher has taken Aramis's cock into his *mouth* — 

Athos kisses him *deeply* — 

Teacher sucks *hard* — 

Athos *swallows* Aramis's *yell* — 

Every *one* of Aramis's yells — 

Teacher takes Aramis's *spend* — 

Teacher hums and slurps and *wallows* — 

Sucks so — 

(You're a delicious boy, Aramis...) And then he sucks *harder*. 

Aramis wails into Athos's mouth, sweats and aches all over, needs, needs so much *more* — 

His cock is still *spasming* even though he has stopped *spilling* — 

Teacher hums around Aramis's cock — 

Athos hums *questioningly* into Aramis's mouth — 

(It's time for this beautiful boy to serve us more directly, Athos...) 

Athos *growls* into Aramis's mouth — and pulls back without looking away from Aramis's eyes. "Did you have ideas about that, Jason?" 

Jason *slurps* his way off. "Oh, just a *few*." 

Athos hums — 

Aramis gasps and gasps and giggles — 

Athos cups his face with both hands. "You did so well, Aramis. You took your discipline just the way you were supposed to." 

Aramis *grins*. "Yes? Yes?" 

"*Oh*, yes," Teacher says, and moves to the head of the bed. "You were eager, open, willing, obedient, quick... a *good* boy in *every* way." 

Aramis shivers and *beams*. "I have earned such words!" 

"You've earned *everything*," Athos says. 

"Starting with your brother's cock in your mouth," Teacher says, and smiles filthily. 

Aramis giggles and licks his lips *slowly*. 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Are you quite sure you don't want to... take the first turn...?" 

"*Absolutely*, Athos. I want your spend still in his *mouth* when I'm fucking him." 

Athos looks very adorably scrambled for this, which is reasonable for a conversation with a blood-mage. 

Teacher smiles at Aramis warmly — 

Caresses his *cheek* — 

And gestures, sending shadows to all but *attack* Athos's clothes. 

Athos huffs and snorts and lets himself be turned this way and that. "This is deeply reminiscent of bath-time with my Uncles." 

Aramis blinks. 

"*Is* it?" 

"I — oh, give me —" 

And then Teacher turns to Aramis — "We'll give your brother a moment while the shadows have their way with him." 

"Yes, Teacher!" 

Athos's snort is muffled by fabric — 

Teacher sighs happily. "I truly don't get tired of this." 

"No? Is it because you can feel everything the shadows are doing?" 

"That's *most* of it. But there are also the desperately entertaining visual aspects." 

"Pleased — pleased to be amusing —" 

"Of course you are, Athos — oh, those breeches are *soaked*. Mm. Mmm..." 

"My Teacher can *taste* through the shadows?" 

"Oh, yes," Teacher says, and licks his lips —

And Athos moves close to the bed again, naked and hard and mussed and smiling wryly. 

"My brother, please tell us about *bath-time*." 

Athos huffs. "I didn't mean to imply any degree of deviance as our Uncles were stripping us for the bath — we were still quite young when I demanded the right to bathe Thomas myself, as was my responsibility as his older brother —" 

"Really." 

"Mm?" 

"No, no, do go on." 

Athos hums. "I suspect a *skewering* in that eyebrow-raise, Jason." 

"I admit *nothing*." 

Aramis giggles — 

Teacher and Athos *grin* at him — 

And Teacher licks his teeth. "But about your Uncles?" 

"Thomas and I would try to impose order on bath-time —" 

"Even when you were *toddlers*?" 

"We had things to *do*, Jason." 

"Oh, of course. I imagine this makes perfect sense to you, Aramis...?"

"Oh, yes! Time is limited!" 

"Precisely," Athos says — 

And Teacher laughs. "You're both perfect. What did your *Uncles* do when you and Thomas worked to impose order?" 

"Imposed chaos, of course. They would *toss* us from person to person to get us undressed — and sometimes for the actual *washing* —" 

Teacher *coughs* — 

Aramis *stares* — 

"The rugs would be soaked. Kitos would have soap in his eyebrows. Reynard would have spent more time in the tub than we did. Treville would keep trying to convince the others not to wash us too *well* —" 

Teacher splutters —

"Sometimes Treville would wait until we were clean and dry and then try to *rub* us with our dirty laundry —" 

Aramis chokes — 

"This would start the whole process over again —" 

"Brother, did your parents never *object*?" 

Athos smiles happily — 

Nostalgically — 

"Later, when I was an adult, I happened to mention it to Mother. She told me that the evenings when our Uncles bathed us were some of the most relaxing and enjoyable evenings she and Father had when Thomas and I were at that age. And then she raised an *eyebrow* at me." 

Teacher grins. "And everything became clear...?" 

"Crystalline," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow. "Will we keep Aramis restrained...?" 

"Oh, yes," Teacher says. "Like so." And shadows tilt Aramis's upper body up — 

He seems to be resting on cushions, but they don't give enough to let him *move* more than a little, and he cannot move in any other way — 

And Athos shudders. "That is... wonderful, Jason." 

"I'm happy you approve, Athos. *Take* him." 

Aramis *grins* — 

Athos crawls onto the bed — 

*Straddles* Aramis and shuffles on his knees until he's straddling Aramis's *chest* — 

Athos is *above* him — 

Aramis *moans* — 

*Blushes* — 

And Athos rests his hard, beautiful cock against Aramis's chin. "What are you thinking, brother." 

Aramis tries to lunge against the shadows holding him — he can get nowhere. He licks his lips. He must behave. 

"That's right, Aramis. You will not get your treats any other way," Teacher says. 

"Yes, Teacher," Aramis says, and blushes. "I — I was thinking that I have been in this position before, with other men. It has never been like *this*. A part of me was wondering that so many things could be *new*." 

Athos strokes him — "Everything is new with every lover." 

"I —" 

"Everything is new with every *lover*," Teacher says. "And you have been deprived of lovers until last *night*." 

Aramis pants — he has been pulled up *short*. 

Athos strokes his hair — 

Strokes *into* his hair and *grips* — 

Aramis moans. "Please — I — I apologize." 

"It's all right, brother. Our father has taught me that this is a lesson that everyone must learn." 

"I — everyone? Truly?" 

"Oh, yes, Aramis," Teacher says, and smiles ruefully. "Some of us need to learn the lesson — and all the *attendant* lessons — *countless* times." 

Aramis resolves to do better than this. 

He will learn from everyone who has come before!

"Do just that," Teacher says, and smiles hungrily. "And pleasure your brother." 

"Oh — how?" And Aramis looks back and forth between Athos and Teacher. 

Athos pants — 

And his mind is filled with dreams and images of Aramis taking his cock, sucking and *mouthing* his cock, especially the base...

Hm. "My brother, have you been dreaming of how I pleasured our Porthos?" 

"Incessantly," Athos says, and huffs — 

"Do you *like* to have the base of your cock mouthed this way — 

"Let's find out," Athos says, and — 

"*Mm* — *mmph* — *mmmm*...." 

Athos groans through his *teeth* — 

Athos *shudders* and pulls back — 

Thrusts *in* — 

Aramis gulps and swallows, smiles around his mouthful — 

Athos gasps — "That. Your happiness. I need your *happiness*." 

Aramis's cock *jerks* — Athos had sounded *threatening* again — 

"I almost certainly always *will* in moments like this — you are entirely too *beautiful* —" 

I... apologize? 

Athos huffs — 

Growls — 

"*Mouth* me." 

*Yes*, brother, Aramis says, and does just that, does it the way he had done it for Porthos's growing knot — 

Athos gasps again — 

Again — 

Groans and almost *reels* above him — 

Aramis blinks — 

And Teacher sits on the bed beside them and strokes Aramis's cheek. "You're sharing Porthos's flavours with both of us *while* you're pleasuring your brother." 

Oh — 

"You're sharing the *feel* of him in your mouth. In your *throat*. You're sharing the feel of his hands in your hair and his *mastery* on your *soul*. You're a spirit-mage, mon grand, and your power is no less lovely than the rest of you." 

I — I must — 

"Don't. *Stop*." 

Aramis grunts in his chest — 

Spasms and *presses* with his lips — 

Sucks as hard as he *can* — 

And Athos gasps *again* — 

Sways — 

Shouts — 

And *snarls* as he pulls out and shoves in — 

Shoves in — 

Shoves *in*, fucks Aramis hard, *hard*, and Athos's grip on his hair is iron, Athos's grip on his shoulder is *iron*, Athos is giving all of himself to Aramis, Athos is giving all of his control, all of his need, all of his need to be *served* — 

Aramis is so hard again — 

Aching and needing and — 

Oh, so *hard* — 

Athos is fucking him so fast, so *sleek* — 

Athos is *snarling* — 

So animal — 

Athos is just as much a part of this pack as everyone *else*, and Aramis is *aching* — 

He needs — 

And then Athos moves his other hand from Aramis's shoulder to his *throat* — 

Squeezes and starts to *grind* into Aramis's mouth — 

In and *in* — 

In and *in* — 

Aramis is straining to *buck*, but he is helpless, small, only here to serve, only here to serve his *men*, and that — 

Oh, it's so good — 

It's so — 

And then Athos squeezes Aramis's throat *hard* — 

Shouts — 

Goes so *still* above him — and the first splash of his spend makes Aramis want to sob in gratitude, want to kneel, want to crawl — he has served! He has *served*!

"You're a *wonderful* boy," Teacher says, low and honest and so *hungry* — 

Athos pulls back and spills on Aramis's *tongue* — 

And Aramis *does* sob as he spurts all over himself, helpless and needy — 

He can't — 

It's too much — 

He *can't* — 

"*Perfect*," Athos *snarls*, and shoves *deep* again — 

Aramis spurts again — 

"Beautiful boy... you did exactly right," Teacher says — *purrs* — 

Aramis spurts *again* — 

His lips are trembling — 

He cannot suck — 

"Yes. You. *Can*," Athos says — 

Aramis sucks *hard* — 

"HNH — oh — oh, *yes*," Athos says, and his cock is spasming dryly in Aramis's throat. It *must* be sensitive — 

It must *ache* — 

"Like yours, Aramis....?" And Teacher sounds so *amused* — 

They both *feel* amused — 

Happy — 

Hungry — though Athos is more satisfied *than* hungry — 

"Mm. So I am," he says, and pulls out — 

"Oh, no, no —" 

"Shh, brother. It's our Teacher's turn." 

Aramis gasps as his cock *flexes* — 

Teacher hums as Athos moves to the side — "I honestly can't decide if I *wish* to know how you masturbated yourself before we met, Aramis." 

"I will *tell* you *everything*, Teacher!" 

"I believe that's what he's afraid of, brother," Athos says, and huffs. 

"I." 

Athos huffs more and kisses Aramis softly. (It can't possibly be more horrifying than my own masturbatory habits.) 

Aramis makes an affronted noise — into his brother's mouth. Hm. 

Hmm...

Perhaps he can be affronted later... 

"Yes, do *that*," Teacher says, and *licks* Aramis's slick-sticky belly — 

"Mm!" 

Athos pulls back — "I believe I would like some of that..." 

"Do join me, please." 

"Thank you kindly," Athos says, and then they are *both* licking his belly and chest clean — 

Licking him slowly, wetly, *lazily* — 

They are making pleased noises — 

*Appreciative* noises — 

And Aramis is hardening again. *Thickening* again. 

"Perfect," Teacher says, and sits up. 

"Oh — Teacher. Please, do you wish me to spend again?" 

"Again and again and *again*. All *night*." 

"*Oh* —" 

"But *not* while I'm fucking your mouth, Aramis. We have time for that," Teacher says, and strokes a meandering line along Aramis's still-sticky cock. 

Aramis shivers and smiles. "Please. Please let me have your cock, Teacher." 

Teacher narrows his eyes. "Beg more." 

"Please let me *suck* your cock, Teacher. Please let me taste you, and serve you with my lips and tongue and... teeth?" 

"We'll see," Teacher says, and smiles. "More." 

"Please let me make you spend *inside* me, and further *bind* us —" 

Teacher *grunts* — 

"Please *corrupt* me further, make me more *yours* —" 

Teacher's growl seems to come from the whole *house* — and then Aramis is pinned, and Teacher is above him. 

"Yes —" 

"Shh. You should be careful what you ask for," Teacher says — and *shifts*!

"*Oh* —" 

Athos is *blinking* — 

And Teacher's long hair is now a stiff, dark-red mane — 

And Teacher's hands are *clawed*, and *stained* to the elbow as if he'd dipped them in *blood* — 

He is *naked* — 

His eyes are black *pits* — 

His mouth is filled with *needle* teeth — 

His cock is *longer* — 

And his long, long tongue is lolling. He. 

(You asked,) he says, (about the shadows...)

Athos grunts — "This is the shadow-being's form." 

Teacher smiles. (As near as we've been able to tell...) 

"Oh, Teacher... please, I want to *touch*!" 

Teacher rumbles like a *beast* — (You'll have your chances. For now... I believe we need to address an earlier request,) he says, pressing his thumb-claw to his long, thick cock and slicing a long, thin line all the way to the head. 

"Fuck..." 

Aramis agrees with Athos wholeheartedly. And he opens his mouth. 

(Good, good boy....) Teacher thrusts *deep* without another moment's hesitation — 

Aramis sucks, licks, tastes, *swallows* — 

Aramis *takes* — and feels Teacher's power take *him*, binding him tightly in coil after coil even as Teacher growls — 

Snarls — 

The sounds come from everywhere — 

The sounds seem to come from inside *Aramis's* soul! 

(You're mine, little one...)

Aramis tries and fails to *buck* — 

Teacher laughs all through him, all *around* — 

It *rolls* through Aramis, caressing and teasing and *owning* — 

(Really...) 

Teacher — please — 

(*Suck*.) 

Aramis obeys, he must do well, he must please — 

Teacher growls and pulls out most of the way — 

Drips blood and *hot* slick to the back of Aramis's throat — 

Aramis swallows and swallows — and *gulps* when Teacher thrusts again — 

Again — 

(You're *perfect*...) 

Aramis's cock *jerks* — but only once before Teacher stills it, holds it with his power, his *heat* — 

Aramis groans in his chest — 

His cock *tries* to spasm — 

His body tries to *arch* — 

(Oh, no, little one. Focus on *sucking*,) Teacher says, and fucks him slowly, so *slowly* — 

Aramis groans again and sucks hard, licks — 

Laps and sucks and teases — 

He must be good, he must be *good* — 

Teacher growls, and the room gets *darker* — 

Aramis can see nothing *except* for Teacher — 

He moans and Teacher fucks it to pieces — 

He sucks and Teacher makes him work for it — 

He licks up the blood and slick and Teacher binds him tighter, *tighter*, and Aramis is so hard, so hard — 

So *still* and hard — 

His cock is *straining* to spasm — 

And Teacher is grinning down at him from his *well* of shadows, he is — 

But where — 

(Your brother is enjoying the shadows' hospitality...) 

Aramis cannot help but imagine — 

Dream — 

*Desire* — 

Teacher laughs *hard* — 

It *thunders* through him like hooves, like blood, like a vast *river* of blood, and Aramis is aching, panting — no, he must suck, he must *suck* — 

He is doing such a bad *job* — 

(Not at all, little one,) Teacher says, and cups Aramis's face with his clawed hands — 

Lifts Aramis's head just a *little* — 

His claws prick the back of Aramis's *head* — 

The blood binds them *more* — 

He is so *held*!

(Yes, you are... mm. And you've *never* been held like this before. Have you.) 

N-no — no, Teacher — 

(You've never had your spirit *swallowed*.)

Is that — but he is *inside*. Teacher has *encompassed* him, Teacher has taken all of him, Teacher could control everything he *did*!

Teacher laughs richly — 

*Rolls* Aramis in the laughter — 

(Is that what you want...?) 

Aramis *stares* — and then feels his mouth being made to *suckle*, his tongue being made to curl and *toy* with the underside of Teacher's cock — 

Everything Aramis tries to do to change or enhance the movements is — stopped. 

*Pinned*!

(Do you like being my pretty little doll, little one...?) 

Aramis cannot hold back an internal wince for that — 

(Nor should you have tried,) Teacher says, and stops thrusting, pressing the tips of his thumb-claws to Aramis's cheekbones. (You must never hide your truths from me. You must never hide your truths from our pack.) 

Oh — I am sorry, Teacher! I knew this lesson, but I still did wrong! Please punish me! 

Teacher growls again. (Oh, yes. Honesty is the paramount rule.) 

Yes! Yes, please! 

(Here,) Teacher says, and then — 

Then *everything* is darkness — 

Aramis cannot even see Teacher!

Aramis can see *nothing*! 

(Nor will you, until your punishment is complete.) 

I — 

(Shh. *Take*,) Teacher says, and thrusts *deep* — 

Aramis chokes — 

Coughs — 

Recovers and gulps and swallows and swallows — I'm sorry! 

(Shh, shh. You're not used to not being able to see your men...) And Teacher's voice is full of relish as he starts to fuck Aramis *hard* — 

Aramis takes it as best as he can, sucks and suckles, tries to keep the *rhythm* — 

(You can feel me. You can feel every. Nnh. Every *stroke*.) 

Yes — 

(Use *that* to find your rhythm.) 

I — please — 

(You can do it, little one. Nothing stops you when you need to perform a task. Does it.)

No!

(Just so. You will do *this*,) Teacher says, and he's fucking Aramis *relentlessly* — 

But steadily. 

One thrust after another after — 

Aramis hums and swallows rhythmically — 

Swallows hard — 

Sucks *harder* — 

Teacher gasps — 

His rhythm stutters — 

Aramis *catches* the new rhythm, *chases* it, he will be good for his Teacher!

(You — you can be nothing *less*,) Teacher says, growling low and hard, growling so — 

It's *inside* him — 

Aramis's body is trying to *writhe* — 

Teacher is fucking him so *hard* — 

(Faster, now, little one —) 

Aramis nods and *takes* the stifled jerk of his own cock, groans and *takes* the way Teacher is fucking him hard, fast, *faster* — 

Teacher cups the front of his throat and the back of his neck — 

His claws prick and prick and *stab* — 

It's all Aramis can do not to *lose* himself to the struggle to buck and *strain* — 

(Oh — Aramis —) 

Yes, Teacher, *yes*!

(*Harder* now!)

Anything!

And Teacher *snarls* — 

Aramis can feel it in his spine — 

In his *balls* — 

They are drawn up so *tightly*, but he knows he must not *spend* — 

(Not *yet* —) And Teacher snarls again — 

*Again* — 

*Yanks* his hands away from Aramis — 

There's the sound of *wood* splintering — 

Aramis wants to *see* — 

(*Almost*,) Teacher says, and *grinds* into Aramis's throat, in again and *again*, and Teacher's thighs are trembling against him — 

Teacher is *shaking*!

Aramis suckles and suckles and *groans* — 

He *needs* Teacher's spend — 

(Hecate's *cunt* —) 

And Aramis can see!

Aramis can see Teacher tossing his *head* above him, mane shivering in the shadow-rich air — 

He is gnashing his sharp *teeth* — 

His shadow-pit eyes seem to look on some abyss that can only be reached by the *dying* — 

(Don't. Look. *Closely*.)

I!

And Teacher laughs hard and fucks Aramis *harder*, making Aramis shudder and *ache* with need, every part of him aches with *need* — 

He sucks — 

He begs with his lips, his tongue, his nibbling teeth — 

(Good. *Boy*!) And Teacher slams in *hard* and fills him, fills him!

His howls are *nothing* like a dog's or wolf's — 

His howls are like nothing that belongs on *earth* — and suddenly Aramis's cock is free to jerk and twitch and *jerk*, over and over and *over* — 

Aramis almost *chokes* — 

The feeling is so *intense* — 

He keeps *swallowing* — 

And then Teacher pulls back and fills his mouth, panting and growling and shivering like a horse, so — 

Aramis wants to stroke, to pet, to caress and *care* — 

(Oh... little one...) 

Teacher — 

(Just a little more suckling,) Teacher says, and strokes him with his clawed fingers. (It's almost time to make your brother spend again...) 

Oh! Aramis suckles *devotedly* — 

Teacher groans and *hums*. (Wonderful boy...) 

He traces Aramis's features with his sharp claws — and then he shifts back to his human-form and pulls out, moving to lie on Aramis's right. 

"Oh, Teacher, *thank* you!" 

"You did wonderfully, Aramis. You responded to your lessons just the way you should have, and you handled your punishment *beautifully*," Teacher says, leaning in to kiss him hard.

"MM!" Thank you!

Teacher pulls back. "And I'm sure your brother would say just the same if, well..." And then Teacher turns Aramis's head to the left — 

And Athos is tied to the *wall* with shadows, restrained and gagged and wild-eyed, sweating, *straining* — 

There is a shadow wrapped tightly around his hard cock — 

There is a shadow *inside* his hard cock — 

"There's also a shadow *reaming* his arse." 

"I." 

"Yes...?" 

"You can *feel* everything those shadows feel, Teacher!" 

"*Oh*, yes." 

"How were you able to *control* yourself?" 

Teacher turns Aramis back to face him — 

Back to face his *wryly* filthy smile — 

"Aramis. There are, at any given time, *dozens* of shadows outside of my body. Moving through the world. *Examining* things — and people. *Touching* them. If I *hadn't* developed some measure of control...? I would be dead in a *very* sticky puddle." 

Aramis opens his mouth — 

Closes it — 

"Yes, Teacher." 

Teacher inclines his head — and gestures. Abruptly, the shadows holding Athos carry him back to the bed — 

Settle him on his knees between Aramis's *legs* — 

"Oh, Teacher — please — please take the *gag* away!" 

"Happily," Teacher says, and — 

Athos shouts immediately — 

Writhes on his knees with his arms locked above his head — 

Bucks rhythmically and tosses his head — stops and *stares*. 

Pants — 

"Aramis. I. I highly recommend this experience." 

"Oh, brother —" 

"I —" And then Athos's low groan becomes a *yell* — 

He bucks and bucks and *howls* — 

"I've made the shadow in his cock begin *fucking* his cock." 

"I... I have never..." 

"Most men haven't," Teacher says, and smiles. "I suspect that Athos is correct that you would enjoy at least a *similar* experience." 

Aramis swallows.

*Stares* at Athos — 

He looks almost *tortured* — 

He looks... thrilled about this. 

He is so *hard*, and his balls have drawn *all* the way up, and — 

Hm. 

"I looked... just this way. When I was being whipped." 

"And when your Porthos was disciplining you, yes." 

Aramis nods once. "I have never... served. *This* way." 

"No...?" 

"There is no one... there was no one." 

"No one you *remotely* desired in those ways, you mean." 

"Yes. But Athos..." 

And Athos is *grunting* out *sharp* screams with every twisting thrust of the shadow in his cock — 

"And his arse...." 

Aramis shivers. "I feel... I have this desire. I must talk to my mate about it." 

"Yes," Teacher says, and caresses Aramis's chest. "Always talk to your mate first." 

"Yes, Teacher." 

"For now... prepare to be *marked* by your brother." 

"Oh —" 

"*Athos*," Teacher calls — 

Athos focuses *immediately* — 

*Somehow* — 

"*Good* boy," Teacher says. "*Spend*." And the shadows *fly* from around and *in* Athos's cock — 

Athos *coughs* out a cry — 

And another and *another* as he spurts hot and musky and *perfect* all *over* Aramis's chest and belly — 

He is still *restrained* — 

His hair is lank with sweat and he is straining so *much* — 

He — 

"Oh, brother, you are so *beautiful*!" 

"Agreed," Teacher says, and swipes up spend from Aramis's belly to lick and slurp away. "Why don't you come right down here where you belong...?" 

"I — I..." 

"Shh. It's all right, Athos. I've got you," Teacher says, and the shadows still holding Athos lower him down on top of Aramis, arranging him just so. 

"Oh — I — I don't want to make it difficult for Aramis to breathe —" 

"Brother, you are *wonderful* on top of me. Warm and *hard*," Aramis says, and tries to wrap his arms around Athos — he is still restrained. 

And Athos is looking at Teacher with an eyebrow up. 

"Mon amant is absolutely right about the *goad* of your control, Athos..." And Teacher strokes Athos's face, lingering on his mouth. 

Athos kisses his fingertips. "That was wonderful. Please feel free to break my control whenever you'd like."

"Thank you," Teacher says, and his voice is heavy and low. He takes in both of them. "Both of you..." He *growls*. "Aramis. Are you ready to be *somewhat* more free?" 

Oh... "What does this mean?" 

Teacher smiles. "Excellent question. It means that you will be allowed to move, and touch us as you will... but that you will still be subject to *our* will." 

Aramis shivers and grins. "My Teacher is not done with us...?" 

"Not even remotely. Not *ever*. And I believe you mentioned a desire to be left unfit for anything *productive* tomorrow..." 

Athos growls — 

Aramis *beams* — "Please, Teacher, yes! I am ready!" 

"Good, good boys..."


	31. Dealer's choice.

It's taken some doing to figure out how to cuddle with Daddy. 

For one thing, there's been an *extremely* limited number of times since his Mum was murdered that someone else was *this* determined to comfort *him* — 

This impossible to *deflect* — 

And every time Porthos has a thought remotely *like* that, Daddy *bites* him. Not hard, but still. 

And there's the problem of cuddling. 

Porthos is used to being the one cuddling the other person. Holding them. Rocking them. Petting them. 

Even when he *was* the one getting comforted. 

He *is* comforted by doing all those things!

He's — he's a touchy *person*. 

He's *soothed* by doing all those — 

"Son." 

"Uh. Yeah?" 

Daddy laughs a little breathlessly against the back of his neck. 

"I —" 

Daddy *bites* the back of his neck, which loosens Porthos up all over, including in some extremely exciting ways which Daddy won't let them *talk* about — 

At *all* — 

(We're still not talking about them.) 

"*Daddy*." 

(*Relax*.) 

"I'm *trying* —" 

Daddy shoves a leg between Porthos's own, squeezes Porthos's waist *tighter*, and bites the back of his neck *harder*. 

"Oh fuck." 

(Relax by thinking about sex.) 

"Oh. Yeah?" 

(I'm surrendering with honour, son.) 

"Oh, right, right, sir — Daddy —" 

(Did you want to call me sir again...?) 

"No! I just... you were using Captain-y words." 

Daddy snorts. It tickles *abominably* with him biting Porthos's neck like that — 

Porthos *squirms* — 

Daddy holds him even tighter — 

"So can we talk about you pinning me?" 

(We absolutely can. Where am I doing this?) 

Porthos blinks. "Well... a bed?" 

(Not outside? A nice, grassy field? A pile of dead, crunchy leaves?) 

And Porthos is *about* to prod Daddy about that a little — beds are wonderful sodding inventions — 

(But the dog inside you just voiced an opinion, son...?) 

Porthos growls. 

Daddy laughs. While holding Porthos's neck in his teeth. *Messily*. 

"Right, you can stop biting me any *time* —" 

(No, no, I can't.) 

Porthos splutters — 

And Daddy pulls back and starts licking him clean while laughing softly. 

"You're such an *arse*." 

"That — mm. That I am, son. Do you think if we *all* pin you, you'll eventually relax?" 

"I..." 

"I'd probably have to bite you, too. I see," Daddy says, and licks him again. "We'll work on that." 

"Fuck, Daddy, I'm —" 

"Don't apologize. Your whole life has taught you how *not* to take being physically comforted. It's a miracle you can take being comforted in *any* way." 

Porthos blinks. "It's not like — I mean, people weren't *cold* to me —" 

"Except for the person in the position to care for you after your mother was murdered." 

"I — right. Right. I'll not argue with you for this one, Daddy. I already know you're right." 

Daddy licks him again. "Do you, son?" 

"I do," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. "It weighs on me two ways, you know? On the one hand, I feel like I should be in better shape than this, like I shouldn't need comforting, or like I should at least be ready to comfort *you* —" 

"*Son* —" 

"And on the other hand, I *know you're right*, and that I'm all messed up this way, and it throws a lot of my memories into a light that's kind of... uh. Terrible?" Porthos laughs painfully. "I don't know what to do with that. I don't know... I don't like thinking that I wasn't... that I wasn't as happy as I thought I was." 

"Oh. Son... no. Don't go down that road." 

"Daddy —" 

"Shh," Daddy says, and hauls on Porthos until he's on his back, and they can look into each other's eyes. "Don't go down that road."

"How do I *avoid* it?" 

"Like this: You gain *nothing* by shitting on the happiness you had back then —" 

"But —" 

"What you *need* to do is understand more about what you did and didn't have, and did and didn't know, and what that did and didn't *do* to you. But, in the end, you weren't the same person back then as you are now, and *that* person was happy, and *that* person wasn't lesser for *being* happy." And Daddy raises his eyebrows. 

"I — are you sure about that?" 

"I am, son. I spent a lot of time second-guessing my happiness — my *joy* — as a boy once I was old enough to be a terrified and lonely young man who *really* knew what it meant to be second-generation nobility *and* a buggerer in the military whose only real *ally* among the nobility was a comte with even more enemies than *I* had." 

"Shit —" 

"Precisely. I called myself a thousand kinds of fool for not repressing myself more, for not learning *how* to repress myself more, for not *begging* Sébastien — the lieutenant of my father's who spent the *most* time teaching us kids how to act like nobility — to *train* me in the *arts* of self-repression... well. I learned a lot about hating myself, son." 

"*Fuck*, Daddy..." 

"It was a terrible time. *Mostly* because it fed into the lies I was telling my brothers about who I was, how I wanted to be treated, how I felt about them..." Daddy shakes his head. "It led to wasted *time*, son." 

"Fuck, Daddy, I'm so *sorry* —" 

"Shh. I've learned better now. But I'll always take your comfort," he says, and winks. 

Porthos coughs a laugh. "Arse. But I hear you. I um." 

"Mm?" 

"Were you ever able to, you know, *appreciate* your old memories again? I mean, I *know* how you feel about your Dad." 

Daddy looks distant for a long moment... and then smiles ruefully. "It took time. And help from my loves. And, to be frank, even now when I'm sharing my memories with Jason... I'll sometimes feel a twinge or two." 

"Oh, Daddy..." 

"It's all right, son —" 

"It *isn't* —" 

"Shh," Daddy says, and leans in to lick Porthos's mouth — 

He does it again — 

Again and again — 

Porthos licks him back *helplessly* — 

"Mm. Let me tell you why it's all right." 

"Because you'll let *us* comfort you, too?" 

"That's *right*. And? Every time I share the memories *despite* the twinges? Those twinges get a little weaker." 

"Oh — *good*. Tell me —" 

"About me running around panting after your grandfather, son...?" And Daddy grins, showing his tongue. 

"You're such an — no, wait, stop trying to scare me away!"

Daddy laughs ruefully. "Perhaps, *perhaps* I know a thing or two about not being able to handle comfort." 

"Oh — your Dad didn't...?" 

"Oh, he absolutely did. *Wonderfully* — when he was there to. Which fueled my inability to take it from other people. *Any* other people." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. "Dad or nothing." 

"That's *right*. And, of course, completely wrong." 

"'Never turn down petting.'" 

Daddy smiles at him, and caresses his face. "You're allowed to turn it down from pillocks. But... from the people who love you... the people who are worth every bit of *your* heart..." 

Porthos winces. "You were denying yourself — pack." 

"Family, back then, but yes." 

Porthos shivers. "Don't — don't let me do that, Daddy." 

"I never will, son," Daddy says, and strokes Porthos's lower lip with his thumb. "None of us ever will, but I promise to bite the living hell out of you if you even look like you're making a serious try at it." 

Porthos *coughs* — 

Daddy grins — 

Porthos *tries* to glare — 

Daddy licks his *teeth* — 

Porthos gives up and laughs, just laughs, and — 

And Aramis is in him. 

The Aramis who belongs to him *and* the Aramis they'd all lost. 

He's laughing with his Daddy, who never could have been his Daddy in the world of a week ago. 

He's laughing for a conversation that couldn't have *happened* a week ago. 

He's — 

He's walking new paths, and only one Aramis can walk them *with* him... but that doesn't mean the other Aramis isn't wrapped up tight in his heart. 

Daddy pets Porthos's chest over his shirt. "He always will be, son." 

"Yeah. Yeah, he will. And." Porthos swallows. His eyes are wet. "Please." 

Daddy comes down and holds him. Holds him tight, and sniffs him, and licks him — 

"I want..." 

"Anything. You can have *anything*." 

"I uh. Can I." Porthos laughs painfully and wipes his tears away — 

Daddy growls, *straddles* him, and *licks* his tears away. 

"Right, well, you just did that again." 

"Too much?" 

Porthos stares at Daddy. 

Daddy looks at him. Just sodding *looks* at him, just like — 

"All right, no, it *wasn't* too much, but you're an *arse* —" 

"That I am. Now tell me what you need," Daddy says, and licks more tears away. 

Porthos — deflates. 

And sighs. 

And — "I want... I want to answer your question. From before. The question I *started* to answer." 

"Mm?" 

"About — about my *fantasies* about the Aramis we lost." 

"Oh, son — tell me. Tell me everything." 

"I — yeah?" 

Daddy nods. "I want to know. I want to know for... every reason in the world," he says, and he looks honest, and he *smells* honest, and he *feels* honest — "I'll never lie to you, son." 

Porthos blinks and — breathes. "I know that. I *knew* that. It's just —" 

"You're a little scrambled. You're full of hurt. It's all right." 

Porthos licks his lips. "You — you probably know what I want to talk about better than *I* do, Daddy —" 

"Trust your instincts, son. You already knew that it's best to let what wants to come out *out*." 

"I — yeah. Fuck, I'm a mess —" 

Daddy cups his face — and grips. "You're grieving. And so are the rest of us, including your *mate*, because he never *once* had the *chance* to grieve for everything that was stolen from him." And Daddy raises his eyebrows. 

Porthos breathes again — 

More — 

*More* — "Got it, Daddy." 

Daddy smiles at him so *warmly*. "My boy. Now, I *believe* we were talking about *extremes*. You were saying something about how you still fantasized about *taking* things to extremes...?" 

"You... really did want to know this," Porthos says, and laughs. 

"I want to know *everything* about my boys. And everything about my boys' cocks." 

Porthos *snorts* — 

And Daddy lolls his tongue for just a moment. 

Porthos laughs *hard* — "No, I — it's just that you — you *implied* that you *didn't* fantasize about taking things to extremes if you didn't know the other person liked that..." And Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"I don't, no. Not when I'm the one *providing* the pain — or other kinds of extremes." 

"At *all*?" 

Daddy laughs ruefully and settles half on top of Porthos. 

Close enough to nuzzle. "I mean, come on, Daddy —" 

"If it makes you feel better, this tendency of mine frustrated the living *hell* out of Reynard, too." 

"Oh — yeah?" 

"Mm. He wanted my fantasies from before we began making love, and I had *many*, but very few, ultimately, that looked anything like his own." 

"I — he liked it rough." 

"He liked it *brutal*. Not whippings or that sort of thing, but he never wanted me to go easy on him, and he *very* much enjoyed it when I gave him the dog." 

"The — you mean you shifted and...?" 

"Exactly." 

"*Shit*. And... that was his favourite?" 

Daddy grins. "His favourite was when I would mount him as the dog once or twice —" 

"Fuck fuck —" 

"And then shift back to human-form — and my bigger cock and knot — and have him *again*." 

"Bloody *hell*." 

"Let's just say I spent a lot of time healing Reynard, and leave it at that." 

"See, I can *see* not fantasizing about bloody *that*." 

"Can't you?" 

"Yeah, I — with Aramis..." Porthos licks his lips. "I mean, of *course* I dreamed of spanking him, hurting his cock and bollocks a little, but that wasn't serious. I *knew* he liked that just from the two of us whoring around." 

"Of course. What *didn't* you know he liked?" 

"One day I... uh. I found a whip in his things. A *used* whip. You can always tell." 

"That you can." 

"I teased him about it. Asked him what he was getting up to with his fine ladies." 

"Oh — I think I see where this is going." 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "He gave me a long look, and then he told me that the whip wasn't *for* that. That it was for *religious* correction." 

"Shit, son — you had a fight." 

"No, actually. Because I'd *seen* the look in his eyes, and I knew he would shut me right out if I didn't look sharp. So I just, you know, asked a *few* questions. How often he needed it. If it helped. If it made him feel *right*." 

"Good job," Daddy says, and pets him more. 

"Thank you, Daddy. He smiled at me, and he blushed, and he ducked his head. He said he didn't use it as much anymore. He said he'd come to believe that the Saviour wouldn't approve of such things *except* from those in true need, and so he kept himself from it, and focused on other sorts of prayer. And he said it did, in fact, make him feel right. So I nodded, and handed it to him, and said something about getting us both *seriously* blotto — and he looked at me with such. 

"Such *naked* gratitude. Such *joy*." 

Daddy laughs ruefully. "You started dreaming about that whip day and night." 

"Do you have any *idea* what it's like to get hot for your brother and the scents of leather? It's just not bloody *fair*." 

Daddy snickers. "Oh, son — oh, son, I'm *sorry* —" 

"Yeah, laugh it up, you arse. Athos is going to do the same thing to *you*." 

"That he will, that he will —" Daddy laughs *harder*. 

And Porthos laughs, too. Helpless and wounded and more than a little happy, too. 

Daddy pets him more, and licks more tears away —

Porthos sighs and takes it. "With Athos, you know, I always thought he'd need to be *eased into things*." 

"Oh, son." 

"You're going to break something laughing at me, aren't you." 

"No more than a sprain —" 

Porthos snickers and drags a hand down over his face. "He jumped in with both feet, his cock, and his mouth wrapped around *your* cock, didn't he." 

"I — you realize he probably thought all your care and gentleness with him the other night —" 

"Was me not being *sure* I wanted him or some shite like — fuck. Did you just — no. You talked to him. About his *preferences*. Just like with me." 

"That's right, son. *After* he told me, in no uncertain terms, to stop touching him like the Captain." 

"Fuck — but you didn't plan to jump down his trousers this morning." 

Daddy laughs hard. "I'd had some beautiful fantasies about catching up on things at the garrison, given that Jason's spell last night had left me so well-rested..." 

"*He* seduced you, and told you he wanted to be whipped and slapped around and — bloody hell. Is this what *happens* when he's around you for long periods of time? Because if it is, I'm bloody chaining you to Actaeon." 

*Daddy* snickers. "Son —" 

"Do you think I'm joking? I spent years trying to get *any* kind of response out of him other than polite *refusal*." 

"Well, *you* were being too polite, son." 

"*Oi*. I'm not going to be an *arse* about... things..." And Porthos frowns. 

And thinks about it. 

And *looks* at Daddy...

Daddy gives him an *innocent* look in return — 

Porthos punches him. 

Daddy yips and yips and *wheezes* and yips *more* — 

"I can't even *imagine* how violent I would've grown up if you *had* raised me." 

Daddy *wheezes* more — 

"Maybe as violent as *Mum*." 

"Oh fuck, son —" And Daddy's choking on his yips — 

Porthos snickers more and they just — laugh like complete arseholes for a little while. 

It's good. 

It's really, really *good*, and comfortable, and warm, and — 

And a part of Porthos is just thinking of the night ahead, being curled up with his Daddy in this big bed and just — 

Having that. 

*Taking* that for himself. 

(It's yours, son.) 

Porthos licks his lips, and looks at Daddy while he sobers himself. "Yeah. Yeah, it is," he says, reaching up to cup Daddy's face — 

To stroke his mussed beard — 

So *soft* — 

It had always *looked* soft, but that's nothing compared to how it *feels*. It's *almost* like fur — it's only just barely *not* fur, by the feel of it, and Porthos wants to feel it absolutely everywhere. 

Daddy rumbles and licks Porthos's palm — 

"Oh —" 

"That can be arranged, son. But I think you want a *little* more talking, first." 

"I... yeah, I do, actually." 

Daddy nods. 

"I..." Porthos licks his lips and looks toward the door to the sitting room. 

"Son?" 

He looks back at Daddy. "Could you... check on the others?" 

Daddy grins and raises his eyebrows. "Especially your mate...?" 

Porthos blushes — 

Daddy leans in and licks his mouth. "This is entirely natural, son. The two of you aren't going to do that well with *real* distance between you for quite a while, and you've only *just* consummated the mating. There's been a lot of different things weighing on both of you, but... well. *One* of you is *going* to be seeking out the other well before dawn tomorrow morning."

"Uh. How is that going to — I mean, we're bloody *Musketeers*, Daddy!" 

"You're *pack*, son, and you're *mated*. That trumps everything." 

Porthos stares. Just — stares. 

Because Daddy *had* damned well said that his name and position could sod itself, but Porthos hadn't quite thought about that. Hadn't quite thought about everything that could mean for all of *them* — 

Daddy straddles him again — 

"Daddy —" 

Daddy grips Porthos's hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other, pinning him *right* down. 

"*Fuck*, Daddy —" 

"Listen to me, son. Listen very carefully." 

"I —" 

"Shh. When I was a young man, I let being a Musketeer trump being mated to your mother —" 

"Oh — shit —" 

"And I lost both of you. Her forever, and you for twenty *years*." 

"*Shit* —" 

"And then I let being a Musketeer trump being pack to my brothers and Marie-Angelique. I let things like pride and fear — and their fears — keep us from sealing our bonds in blood, the way they were always *meant* to be sealed. Maybe I never could've saved Laurent and Marie-Angelique. Maybe something else would've gotten Kitos and Reynard before I met Jason, and my blood-sacrifice finally, *finally* gave him the ability to share his immortality. 

"But maybe they would all be here now. Maybe our pack would be *complete* — more complete, with Thomas, and Athos's and Thomas's little brother or sister, and whatever younger siblings your mother and I would've given *you*." 

"Oh... Daddy..." 

"I'm not saying it all has to end here, son. I'm not saying that, at all." 

"You're saying — to remember my priorities." 

"That's *right*. I think there *will* come a day when the five of us will do all our soldiering in the left-handed war... but that day is not today." 

"I — I'll be ready. We'll *all* be ready, Daddy." 

Daddy smiles at him with a hard, *hot* pride. "My boy." 

Porthos shivers. "Yours, Daddy —" 

"Let's check on your mate," Daddy says, and looks like he's concentrating on something — 

*Deeply* — 

"I'm looking through Jason's eyes, son..." 

"Oh. Yeah?" 

"Mm. He's fucking both of your brothers at once." 

"Uh." 

"He's using the shadows on Athos." 

"Fuck —" 

"I should say that he's fucking Athos's cock at the same *time* that he's fucking Athos's arse —" 

"*Fuck* — wait, wait, did he — I know you healed Athos, and also Athos is bloody *mad*, but what about *Aramis*?" 

"Aramis is mad, son." 

"I — all right, yeah, but —" 

"He wasn't healed —" 

"*Oi* —" 

"— but Jason is fucking his *mouth*, not his arse." 

"Oh. Oh, all right." 

"Jason is in his beast form —" 

"Um. What?" 

"Such a gorgeous mane. His cock is *longer* when he's in that form, too." 

"Mane — right, would you just *tell* me —" 

"Your brothers are fine, son. And ecstatic, going by the scents," Daddy says, and gives himself a shake, obviously coming back to *this* room. "Did you want to see for yourself?" 

"I — oh. You can teach me to look through Jason's eyes?" 

"You'd have a much easier time learning how to look through Aramis's eyes, but yes. *But*, actually, I was talking about the two of us having a look at my bowl of spirit-mage blood." 

"Don't you need to let that thing *rest* sometimes?" 

Daddy coughs. "I — son —" 

Porthos sits up on his elbows. "Just tell me — how much of an arse am I going to make of myself when I see what Jason and Athos have *done* to Aramis?" 

"You're *not*, because he *needed* this." 

"Does he *not* need this anymore? Maybe?" 

"Son." And Daddy *looks* at him — 

And Porthos winces. That — "Right, Daddy, that's a lot more effective than the Captain's glares, just as an aside —" 

"Noted. What are you going to do when you see your *mate* who *loves* you and *needs* you and needs your *approval* —" 

"*Shit* — I'm going to ask him how he feels! While touching him and sniffing him and licking him and *not* examining all the wounds. Welts? Wounds? Just *tell* me —" 

"*Welts*." 

"Oh, thank fuck —" 

"*Son*." 

"I *know* they'd only hurt him that badly if he needed it —" 

"But it sits wrong. You need him not to hurt for *this*." 

"That, and —" Porthos frowns. "I think it goes back to what you were saying before, actually," he says, and frowns harder. 

Daddy lifts his nose — and barks a laugh. "You're feeling possessive." 

"Fuck —" 

"You're feeling *possessive* of your *mate* —" 

"He *needed* Jason and Athos —" 

"And he still does." 

"I know that! I think... maybe. Maybe the dog in me doesn't know that *quite* as well?" 

Daddy lifts his nose again — 

*Yips* a laugh — 

And cups the back of Porthos's head, shaking him a little. "The two of you aren't getting left alone tomorrow." 

"Oi, what do you *mean*?" 

"You're going to shift the *first* time something he says or does — or some scent he sends your way —" 

"*Provokes* me?"

"That's right." 

"Daddy, I'm not going to make *love* with him. I was *listening* earlier." 

Daddy smiles ruefully. 

"I don't like that smile." 

"Son, I'll be honest — the fact that you're *planning* to be continent is going to be working against you." 

"My dog is going to bloody *rebel*?" 

"Your dog is you — more than my dog is *me*, actually — but that just means that, in cases like these, *you can't get him to listen to reason*. All he's going to listen to is what you want, and what you need, and what you crave, and what you *think*." 

Porthos opens his mouth — 

"*Some* of what you think is going to be all about being well-behaved and keeping the lead on tight, but the *rest* of what you think — right down deep where your soul lives — is going to be *resenting* that." 

"*Shit*." 

"Exactly." 

"I'm — we're not going to be alone." 

"No." 

"Daddy, when the bloody hell *are* me and Athos going back to the garrison?" 

"You, and Athos, and *Aramis* are, officially, on another mission. You're gathering intelligence for me, and *no* one knows where."

"So... right. I *never* bloody want to hear you say one sodding *word* about you not being a good Captain, or a *great* leader." 

"Son —" 

"I will *throw* you out that window, Daddy." 

"Hm. I *have* had good nights include events like that, but you're right that I've mostly grown out of that kind of thing," Daddy says, and smiles wryly. 

"All *right*, then." 

"Yes?" 

"Yeah." 

"Good," Daddy says, and rests his palms on Porthos's chest, slipping the fingers of one hand inside the opened laces of Porthos's shirt. 

"Oh — yeah?" 

Daddy grins. "About what you want with *me*, son." 

"Five solid minutes where I don't need to punch you. Just five — did you make poor Reynard put up with this?" 

"Poor — son, he *named* me *meneur*." 

"Basically guaranteeing that you'd be an arse for the rest of your natural existence, right, got it," Porthos says, and scowls. 

"If you *want* me to be more serious —" 

"I want you to be *yourself*."

Daddy raises his eyebrows. 

"I *do*. You *know* I do — don't you?" And Porthos is damned worried for a moment — 

But then Daddy nods. "I do know, son. I can feel it. I think... I think, maybe, your fantasies of bending for someone didn't include much *humour*." And those eyebrows go right back up again. 

"I — well, that sounds bloody horrible." 

"Does it?" 

"*Yes*. I *never* helped anyone bend without a little laughter. Or a *lot* of laughter." 

Daddy nods again. "That surprises me not at all, son, but —" 

"No buts!" 

"If you *don't* want it for yourself —" 

"I *do*!" 

"Are you sure of that, son?" And Daddy *chokes* him, fast and *vicious* — 

Porthos can't talk *or* breathe — 

"Think about it." 

Porthos *looks* at Daddy — 

But Daddy doesn't smile. He doesn't — "Think about it, son. And remember that your Daddy wants to give you *everything* you need." 

And that's heat low in his belly, making his cock jerk and *leak* — but...

But that's just faceless need. 

That isn't *Daddy*. 

The man above him right now — serious-faced and hard and almost *grim* — 

The man holding his gaze so *sternly* — 

Without one *trace* of a smile — 

That's a stranger. 

Porthos shudders and grips Daddy's wrist, shaking his head as much as he can in that grip. 

Daddy raises his eyebrows in question — and doesn't move his hand one bit. 

Porthos grunts in his chest — and grins. I'm sure, Daddy. 

And *then* Daddy moves his hand.

Porthos focuses on breathing for a bit — Daddy hadn't given him a *chance* to take a deep breath before that *chokehold* — 

"Sorry about that, son," he says, and smiles ruefully. 

"No, I — no. I get it," Porthos says, and breathes a little more — 

And a little more — there. 

"You had to be sure. We *both* had to be sure." 

Daddy nods. "We still need to find a way to keep my sense of humour from pulling you out of things, son." 

"Drop me deep, Daddy." 

"Son...?" 

"We've been... playing around. You haven't *let* me drop too far — not even *half* as far as I drop when I'm tossing myself *off*." And Porthos raises *his* eyebrows. 

Daddy nods slowly. "It's all a little too shallow. Any... shift in mood is enough to pull you away from where you need to be, as opposed to becoming a part of the tapestry of things." 

"Yeah, Daddy, *that*. I — I'm betting your Reynard dropped far and fast?"

Daddy smiles wryly. "It took too long for me to realize it, but Reynard spent his *life* on his knees to me. I should've seen it the *first* time he told me he was my weapon — the first time he *declared* it — but instead I just let it fuel my fantasies of him while letting *him* run off to fuck women." 

Porthos winces. "Damn. That's..." He shakes his head. "I *hate* that you had so much wasted time with your brothers, Daddy." 

Daddy caresses his cheek. "So do I, son. And I hate even more that I didn't learn my lesson from it... well. We know this." 

"We always will, Daddy," Porthos says, and turns to kiss Daddy's hand. 

"I love you so much, son," Daddy says, and sighs like his heart is hurting him. "I love all of you —" He growls. "In answer to the question you didn't ask, Marie-Angelique responded well to the joking dominance — almost certainly because we both knew full well that *Laurent* was the final authority for both of us." 

"Oh — hunh. Yeah, I can see it." 

"Yes?" 

"Yeah, Daddy. And your pretty boys?" 

"The ones who didn't respond well to it? Didn't get it." 

"They didn't get the real you, you mean." 

"That's right. It took an egregiously long time to recognize that I wasn't — quite — giving the real me to the other boys, either." 

Porthos *looks* at Daddy. 

"I never considered the option of Daddying *adults*, son —" 

"Not even — uh..." 

"Mm? And that is a *magnificent* blush, son —" 

"Oh, sod off, but — you've made it sound like you had *everything* with Mum." 

"Ah. Well, yes — everything we had *time* for." 

Porthos takes a breath — "You weren't lovers until she was already pregnant with me." 

"That's right." 

"And then — she was gone pretty soon after I was born." 

"Twenty-seven days, son. Twenty-seven —" Daddy growls and shakes his head once. "What do you need to know?"

How you *survived* — but. "We don't have to talk about this now, Daddy." 

"Son, if you need to —" 

"I don't. I really just wanted to know more about, you know, your *history* of being a pushy bloke." 

Daddy frowns — 

Lifts his nose — 

And nods, relaxing a little. "Your mother enjoyed strength of *will*, son, but she needed to fight *nearly* every step of the way sometimes, and she told me more than once that there was nothing I'd ever given her, nothing I'd ever *done* for her, that was worth more than all the times I'd made her laugh." 

"Right, so *I'm* the picky one —" 

"Son —" 

Porthos laughs helplessly. "I'm not *used* to this! I'm usually the easygoing bloke!" 

Daddy grips him by the beard and looks *into* him, eyes gleaming that *hot* blue and *teeth* gleaming in a sharp smile. "Maybe you've needed a man to *make* you easy."

Porthos's cock *jerks* — "Uh." 

"Maybe you've needed a man to... well. Why don't you tell me, son. Why don't you tell your Daddy what you need him to do to you." 

Porthos blinks — 

Daddy flares his nostrils — and smiles wider. 

"Daddy — fuck. I need to know this is *you* —" 

"It is, son. It's *all* me." 

"I —" 

"And it's all right for you to fight me. Your mother did all the time." 

"Fuck fuck —" 

"You're still getting done, son. Just like she did," Daddy says, and lolls his tongue. 

Porthos's *knot* swells — 

*Throbs* — 

He *whines*, desperate and *confused* — 

"You're not sure what to do with that statement. That's fair. We can walk things back a little —" 

"Don't! Don't stop!" 

Daddy raises *one* eyebrow — 

Flares his *nostrils* again — 

And then nods. "Then I won't. More of this." 

"Please —" 

"Tell me what you need, son. Tell me what you *like*. Tell me *how* you want your Daddy to hurt you." 

Porthos groans — 

He's getting so hard so *fast*. He looks — and Daddy's breeches are getting *slick*. 

Just like his. He licks his lips — 

"Look *up*, son." 

"Fuck —" Porthos obeys — 

"Answer my question." 

"Yes, Daddy, fuck, I – uh." And Porthos looks up into Daddy's eyes — 

Into the eyes of the man he's been joking with, talking with, *sharing* with — 

Into his *father's* eyes — 

And Porthos is hot all over, skin prickling with new sweat and body just — slick. 

He's never had anything *like* this, and — 

Now he has to deal with the fact that he wants it. 

That he — needs it. 

He licks his lips and pants — and Daddy strokes his mouth with the fingers of his other hand. The rough-callused and *hard* fingers — 

Porthos licks and licks — 

Daddy rumbles. "Maybe my boy needs a little... time..." 

Porthos groans — 

"Mm? Is that what you need? Daddy to take it easy with you...?" 

Porthos *blushes* — 

"There's no shame in that, son..." And Daddy drags the wet tips of his fingers all over Porthos's face. "There's no shame in needing your Daddy to take things a little slow and gentle." 

"Fuck, Daddy, I — I — this is all *new*." 

"That it is, son. And it's all yours. It's all *ours*." 

Porthos moans. "I — I don't know. What I can take." 

Daddy looks at him for a long moment — and then nods. "Maybe my boy needs his Daddy to choose *for* him." 

Porthos feels like the breath gets caught in his *throat* — 

Like his face will catch *flame* — but. 

But Daddy is still hard. 

Daddy is still *flushed* with it, and — 

Still *slick* — 

"Daddy..." 

"That's right, son... I like this, too. I *love* this, too." 

"I — yeah?" 

Daddy licks his lips — and part of his *face*. "I haven't *had* the opportunity to have this with an *adult*, son. Not quite." 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Not with someone giving me... so *much* of their power..." And Daddy growls low. "My boy. My *son*. Give it to me."

Porthos *stares* — 

"Or do you need your Daddy to take it...?" And Daddy cups his throat again. *Promisingly*. 

And that — Porthos blushes and laughs. "Daddy, I don't think I'm going to say no to *anything* you do." 

Daddy takes a *sip* of air — "Is that so." 

"I'm uh. I think you can smell how hot you've gotten me." 

"But you're still not... dropped." 

"No, not — but it won't take long." 

Daddy nods slowly. *Thoughtfully*. 

*Strokes* Porthos's throat with his thumb. 

"Orders, son? Or actions."

Porthos licks his lips again, and thinks about just — just *giving* — 

"Dealer's choice, then," Daddy says, and *grins*, dirty and wild. "Good boy." 

"Shit —" 

"Shh. You're only going to talk to me when I ask you a direct question... or when something I *do* to you makes you *need* to say something. Makes you helpless *not* to say something. Understood?" 

"Fuck fuck — yes, Daddy." 

Daddy growls and grins more — "Good *boy*," he says, and moves off Porthos — and off the bed. "Up and strip, son. It's time to show your Daddy your body." 

Porthos *bites* back the first several curses and *moves* — 

Thinks hard about trying to give Daddy a *show* — 

"Not that, son. Your Daddy is *far* too impatient for that. Hop *to*." 

Porthos nods and strips himself down at *speed*, wondering a little about just how long he'll go without wearing his leathers more often than not before he goes *spare* — 

"Shh. Don't worry, son. You'll *always* be a soldier. No matter what," Daddy says, and his voice is low, heavy, rumbling — 

Full of *honest* reassurance — 

And Porthos has to admit that Daddy would *know* about soldiering away from the Musketeers. 

"That's right, son. Honour, glory, brotherhood — it's all where you find it. And let's keep in mind that all my most bleak plans with regards to us leaving the regiment were made without considering what *Aramis* might be able to do for us with Louis... and every other thorn in our collective sides." 

Porthos blinks and steps out of his breeches — but. Spirit-mage. 

*Powerful* spirit-mage, who would damned well be backed up by everything Daddy and Jason Blood could do.

"And you, son. And *you*. We have an immense amount of power at our fingertips now. It pays to be cautious, and to make contingency plans... but it also pays to have hope for a better tomorrow." 

Porthos nods and stands straight and tall, just a little bit away from the bed, in case Daddy wants to walk around him and *examine*. 

"You know me so well..." And Daddy grins and does just that, lingering to sniff at Porthos's shoulders — 

To lick the back of Porthos's neck — 

To cup and squeeze and *massage* Porthos's *arse* *while* he's licking the back of Porthos's neck — 

Porthos groans — 

Pushes back into it — 

"Perfect," Daddy slurs, and sniffs him more — 

Reaches around to cup Porthos's *cock* — 

Close enough to his knot that Porthos *gasps* — 

"Really." 

"Daddy — Daddy, it's so sensitive —" 

"Mm. So it is. *Don't* try to deny it sensation," Daddy says, stroking Porthos's cock with one hand and cupping his *knot* with the other — 

Porthos *barks* —

Daddy rumbles and *squeezes* Porthos's knot — 

Porthos *howls* — 

Bucks — 

His *legs* are shaking — 

His ears and face feel tingly and *strange* — 

His *skin* feels tight — 

"You're about to shift — remember those sensations."

Fuck — 

"Shh, easy. Are you ready for me to take my hand off your beautiful knot?" 

Porthos — croons. Helplessly. His knot is *throbbing*, and his cock is jerking again and *again* — 

"It's all right, son," Daddy says, and licks the back of his neck again. "You know I'll take care of you..." 

Oh.

"You know I'll give my boy *everything* he needs..." 

Porthos croons again and clenches on *nothing* — 

"I'll keep that in mind..." And Daddy lets Porthos feel his smile before licking him again. "My good boy. My *delicious* boy. I promise I'll touch your knot again later. After I teach you just a little bit of control." 

Porthos *pants* — 

Struggles to listen to his *mind* and not his *knot* — 

"That's it, son. Now, are you *ready*." 

"I'm ready, Daddy!" 

Daddy releases his knot immediately — but thankfully not his cock. 

Porthos croons and croons and *shoves* into Daddy's fist — 

"Easy, son, easy. Slow it down."

Porthos shudders and obeys — 

"Slow it all the way down..." 

And obeys —

And *obeys* until he can *stop*. 

"Oh, perfect boy," Daddy says, and *nips* Porthos's throat. 

"*Unh* —" And Porthos's cock *spasms* in Daddy's hand — 

"Oh, my boy... mm. I *promise* not to make us wait long. Now, I want you to picture kennels. I know you didn't grow up with this, but I've sent you to any number of manor houses over the past few years. You can picture kennels, can't you?" 

"Yes — yes, Daddy —" 

"Good. Think about the *nicest* kennels you've seen. The kind that made you wonder if the owners were that good to their servants —" 

Porthos *coughs* — 

Daddy grins — and lets him feel it. "Got that in your head, son?" 

"Yes, Daddy!" 

"Think about the smells, and all the little touches. The water troughs, the special doors the kennel boys come through with the food, the extra wood by the fireplaces, just in case it gets too cold, the extra space in the stalls so the dogs don't get too agitated... can you see it, son?" 

"Yes, Daddy, I... it's pretty *intense*." 

"Some things just *will* be more intense now. You noticed that last night, I think — when your Aramis mentioned feeling *collared* by you." 

Porthos pants — 

Remembers that — 

*Wallows* in the memories of that — and the tingly and strange feelings get more intense — 

The feeling like he's in the wrong *skin* — 

Shit — 

"That's right, son. You have to watch how you let yourself think." 

"Oh — fuck — please —" 

"The *kennels*, son. *Now*." 

Porthos *yanks* himself back there, remembering how that one marquise's kennels had pillows for every dog, including the dogs who were convinced that pillows were for pissing-on — 

The scents are all right there — 

The *feel* is right there: Contented, well-fed, well-exercised dogs, happy in their home. 

"There you are, son. Now send *your* dog there." 

Porthos blinks — but that makes sense. His dog needs a secure place to go so he doesn't jump out and wreak havoc every time Porthos loses control of himself, needs somewhere to be when he's not needed where he'll be comfortable and happy and *safe* — 

"That's right..." 

And at first Porthos can't picture it, can't picture what he's *doing*, can't *see* the dog, but then — there he is. 

There *he* is: huge, black and tan with a barrel chest and a shortish muzzle; floppy ears; long, sharp teeth; and a pretty damned impressive hard cock. 

"You're beautiful, son. *Always*," Daddy says, and sighs appreciatively. "Now lead your dog in, and set him up with some food and water..." 

Porthos gets a pillow for him, too.

And sets him up near the fire. And the extremely good-smelling bitches. 

Daddy laughs softly. "Now here's the most important part: *Lock him in*." 

It takes a moment to visualize the locks on the stalls — 

And another to give himself the ability *to* lock them — 

And he can feel the lock straining *against* him — 

It feels like the *key* will break — 

"But it won't, son. The key is strong; the lock is strong. The dog will be safe here and, most importantly, you won't be leaving him here for *long*. Do you understand?" 

I. *When* will I let him out? 

"Tomorrow. He has to meet everyone." 

But you said — that I wouldn't be *alone* with Aramis. Right. *Got* it, Porthos says, and locks the kennels — 

And feels... normal. 

Stronger and healthier than he has *ever*, which has been the case ever since Daddy knocked the barriers down between them, but otherwise normal. 

Reasonably human. 

In *control*. 

"Let's do something about that," Daddy says, and pushes Porthos down until he's bending over the side of the bed with his hands planted on the duvet — 

Porthos *grunts* — 

"Still dealer's choice, son?" 

"Please! I mean, yes!" 

"*Excellent*," Daddy says, and grips his left hip in one hand and starts tossing him *off* with the other hand — 

Porthos *groans* — 

"Do you like that, son?" 

"Yes — *yeah* —" 

"Do you like your Daddy's calluses?" 

"I love them!" 

Daddy squeezes him *hard* — 

Porthos *barks*, knees buckling — 

"My boy is getting so *sensitive*..." 

"Nngh — *please* —" 

"More," Daddy says, and strokes him off with that hard *grip* — 

He — 

Porthos croons loudly and *shakes* — 

Shudders and *shakes* — 

"Oh, son... you're perfect. Go on, tell me how it feels." 

"Daddy — *Daddy*!" 

Daddy rumbles and keeps *stroking* — "You can tell me, son. All prohibitions off." 

"Please, I — I just — it's so —" Porthos sobs and *croons* more — 

Daddy growls *low*. "You're getting me so *hard*, son..." 

"I want — I want to suck you!" 

"Is that so..."

"Yes, Daddy!" 

Daddy squeezes again — 

Porthos sobs and *whimpers* — 

"And if I don't want your beautiful mouth tonight? Mm?" 

"D-dealer's choice!" 

"No matter what, son...?" 

"Please, please, I need what you *want* —" 

"You need to *know* your Daddy. Don't you," Daddy says, and strokes him fast, *fast* — 

Porthos gasps — 

Grunts — 

*Howls* — 

"Oh, good *boy*. We'll return to that question later," Daddy says, and squeezes again — 

Again — 

Porthos dances on his *feet* — 

Daddy strokes *hard* and fast — 

Porthos collapses onto his elbows — 

Daddy snarls and slaps his *hip* — 

"*Yes*!" 

"My *son*," Daddy says, and starts *working* the tip of Porthos 's cock with his callused thumb, a circling rub at the end of every stroke — 

A squeeze at the *beginning* — 

Porthos is *yipping* and *crooning* — 

Leaking all over Daddy's *hand* — 

*Sobbing* — 

His cheeks are wet — 

He's so *close* — 

And then Daddy moves his other hand from his hip — 

Daddy reaches between his legs and *grips* his bollocks — 

Porthos howls *again* — 

Daddy doesn't stop working his *cock* — 

Daddy doesn't stop *anything* — 

"You're *mine*, son —" 

And Porthos yips and *chokes* on a howl as he spurts all over the duvet and his own beard and Daddy's *hand* — 

"Oh, *son*..." And there's so much *hard* pride in Daddy's voice, happiness, and *hunger* — "Keep *spending*." 

Porthos nods and nods and can't — can't do anything *else* while Daddy is working him *over* — 

He can't — 

And for a moment, he feels the dog in him *rising* — 

Daddy *snarls* — "Keep that kennel locked *tight*." 

Porthos can't do anything *but* obey — but he does stop spending. 

Daddy whuffs out a breath. "That's a shame, son." 

"S-sorry, Daddy —" 

"Shh, no. You didn't do wrong. It's natural to lose control at times like these," Daddy says, leaning in and licking the sweat from Porthos's back. (Your mother and I spent a lot of time yanking each *other's* leads right after we were augmented.) 

Porthos blinks — 

Tries to even out his breathing — but. 

That makes sense. 

(Good,) Daddy says, and keeps licking — and holding Porthos's still-hard cock in his sticky hand. 

Porthos can absolutely stand here and take it. 

(Yes, you can, son, but...) Daddy pulls back and stands straight. "Back on the bed, hands and knees." 

Porthos shivers and crawls *right* on, positioning himself near the center — and then he's absolutely listening to his Daddy suck and lick *his* spend off his fingers. 

(That you are, son. How are you.) 

Porthos licks his lips — 

Thinks *very* hard about saying something about the fact that Daddy wants him to have a conversation while he's doing *that* and Porthos is positioned like *this* — but. 

Dealer's choice. 

(That's *right*. There's a freedom to it — if you'll take it.)

Porthos shivers and blushes... and drops to his elbows again.

(Face-down arse-up, son?)

"Yeah, please. And — I'll answer all your questions —" 

"Then start with the one you just skipped," Daddy says, crawling onto the bed and stroking Porthos's back and hips and arse with his strong hands — 

Big hands, *hard* hands — 

"Go on, son." 

Porthos takes a deep breath and lowers his head a little more. *Rests* his forehead on the duvet. 

"Oh, son..." 

"Daddy, I... fuck. You make me feel right. You make me feel *good*. I think I'll probably need some talking *after*, but... I won't be surprised if I don't need *much*." 

"Any man who doesn't take care of his lovers after *any* kind of lovemaking, but especially after lovemaking like *this* —"

"Isn't a man. Isn't a *person*," Porthos says, and smiles softly. "I know, Daddy. But uh. That doesn't mean I don't want your teaching." 

Daddy growls. "This, son. Just this for now: You may not need a lot of talk *right* after we make love, but I'm always going to be there for you. We can always talk about this, or anything else you *want*." 

Porthos smiles and closes his eyes. "Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy." 

Daddy strokes up to Porthos's shoulders — and then back down to his hips. He pants. "Rest on your cheek, son." 

"Oh — yeah, Daddy, yeah —" 

"Mm. Reach back and spread yourself for me." 

Porthos moans and obeys — 

"Oh, son... I've dreamed of this." And Daddy covers Porthos's hands with his own. 

Porthos shivers. "You — bending me over in your office?" 

"And here. *Right* here. And all sorts of other —" 

"You want — you want us all to live with you. You *are* going to adopt us, and we're — fuck, Daddy —" 

"Shh. Pack over everything else, remember?" 

"I've — I've spent my life thinking like a human, Daddy." 

"You never should've, son." 

Porthos blinks — 

Flushes hard — 

"Yes, Daddy. I — I'm sorry —" 

"Shh, shh." Daddy strokes Porthos's hands. "It's only natural to worry about these things, son —" 

"I'm worried for *you* — and. I *mostly* get that I shouldn't be, that you planned for this before you *met* me — the second time — but... it's still hard." 

Daddy kisses the base of Porthos's spine. "We have options, son. And more than one way to make this work for all of us." 

And that...

"Mm?" And Daddy *licks* the base of Porthos's spine. 

"You have never in your life been conservative. About anything. Have you." 

Daddy coughs. "I — no. When I tried to be, as a young and somewhat fearful man, I just hurt myself and others. I threw it all out the window, son." 

Porthos nods judiciously, dragging his cheek against the duvet. "Right, got it. So there you were, dreaming about my arse in the air..." 

"And I'd made sure to examine it from many angles —" 

"You." 

Daddy rumbles a laugh. "It's not often that the Captain of the King's Musketeers has an excuse to wash up with the men... but." 

"You were never *next* to me or anything! I had to work *hard* to get a look at you!" 

"Really, now." 

"*Yes*. And let me just say that I'm extremely disappointed in your honesty, Daddy. I mean, I've been tossing it to the wrong cock for *years*." 

Daddy coughs. "Happily? I haven't been." 

"Bloody *how*? I got caught checking you out every *time*."

Daddy laughs hard. "Oh, son. Dogs have excellent peripheral vision." 

"Oh. Hunh." 

"*Who* caught you?"

"Aramis and Athos, of course." 

"Oh, of course. But...?" 

"Blaireau, Taureau — Hirondelle flat-out asked me if I had a pash for you —" 

Daddy splutters. "What did you *tell* him?" 

"Nothing. I just looked *him* over. Slowly, like." 

"Appreciatively?" 

"*Very* much so, Daddy. Then I took a step closer —" 

"While wet, naked, and — half-hard?" 

"No more than a quarter, but he got the gist —" 

"And ran away?" 

"Like all the devils in hell were after 'im," Porthos says, and sighs happily. 

Daddy snickers. "Oh, son. I caught the *end* of that. I wondered if you were giving me a discipline problem I'd have to dress you down for." 

"Or, you know, *discipline* me for...? Enh...?" 

"The thought occurred. Multiple times. *Many* times..." Daddy sighs happily and strokes Porthos's hands where he's holding his own arse wide again. 

"Nothing too heavy, though." 

"No, son. But I've spanked your jiggly arse *countless* times in my mind." 

"Good to know, good to know. You've certainly spanked me in my dreams a *lot*." 

"Really, now." 

"Mm. Not that I'm suggesting anything to the *dealer* —" 

Daddy growls a laugh. "It's time for you to develop a healthy appreciation for your tongue, son — and mine." 

"Oh — fuck —" 

And then Daddy is licking his cleft — 

Licking away all the sweat — 

Taking *long* swipes with that tongue — 

That long and strong and *muscular* — 

Every time it touches the cinch of Porthos's bollocks-sac, Porthos *shivers* — 

Every time it brushes over Porthos's hole, Porthos *grunts* — 

(Oh, son... just wait...) 

"Daddy — fuck — *fuck*!" 

(I ran out of sweat...) And Daddy is wriggling his tongue in and in and — 

So deep — 

So *deep* — 

Porthos opens his mouth to say *something* else, but all that comes out is a *helpless* bark — 

He blushes and *clenches* — 

His eyes fly open *wide* for the *feel* of clenching around a tongue like that — 

A tongue so *deep* — 

So *strong* —

Porthos groans and croons — 

Flexes open — 

Clenches again *immediately* — 

He can't — 

He can't let *go* — 

(Is that so...) 

"Daddy — *Daddy* —" 

(Tell me about it, son,) Daddy says, and starts to thrust — 

And thrust — 

And *whip* his tongue inside Porthos — 

Porthos croons — 

*Sobs* — 

(Go on, son. Tell your Daddy how you *feel*,) Daddy says, and thrusts fast, *fast* — 

"F-f-*fuck*!" 

Daddy *laughs* into him, messy and so good, so *good* — 

Porthos flexes open *helplessly* — 

(My boy *wants* it...) Daddy says, and pushes Porthos's right hand off his arse, taking over the job of holding him *wide* open — 

*Squeezing* him — 

(Your Daddy needs to *feel* you, son...)

"Yeah — yeah..." And Porthos supports himself a little on that arm — 

Daddy kisses his hole, pulls his tongue back to *tease* — 

Porthos whines and clenches — 

Clenches and tries to *keep* — 

He *needs* Daddy's tongue —

(Good boy. Always ask for what you need,) Daddy says, shoving deep once more and *sucking* on the rim of Porthos's hole and Porthos can't do anything but sob — 

Croon — 

Cry out and *yell* — 

He *needs* this — 

He needs more of *just* this — 

(So do *I*,) Daddy says, and makes *love* to Porthos's hole, sucks and mouths and *suckles* at it *while* fucking him with his tongue — 

Long, powerful *tongue* — 

Porthos pants and pants and *howls* — 

(*Yes*, son!) 

He can't make words anymore. He's not sure he can make any other *sounds* — 

He needs this so *badly* — 

He needs Daddy not to *stop* — 

He's — fuck, he's rocking back and back onto Daddy's *face* — 

(*Riding* my face, son...) And there's a hot smile in Daddy's voice, a wild and satisfied *and* hungry smile — 

So good, so *good* — 

Porthos howls again — 

Drags his face against the duvet and *claws* at it — 

His cock is jerking so *hard* — 

He's spattering himself and the bed every *time* — 

His bollocks are drawn up so *tight* — 

He's so bloody *close*, and all he wants is to get fucked, get *taken* by his *Daddy* — 

Daddy *snarls* into him — 

Porthos gasps — 

Daddy sucks *hard* on his hole — 

Porthos whimpers and whimpers and *shouts* a howl — and then Daddy's hand is working his cock again, stroking and petting and *molesting* it, like he can't get *enough* — 

(You're *mine*!) 

Porthos *bucks* into that grip and then shoves right back onto Daddy's *face* — 

(Good *boy* —) 

He needs this, he *needs* — 

(It's *yours*,) Daddy says, and tosses him off fast and *hard* — 

Porthos can't bloody *see* — 

He's sobbing and *biting* the duvet — 

He can't stop working his *hips* — 

(Oh, son... *spend*!) 

Porthos whimpers and seizes hard — but that just makes everything Daddy's doing feel harder, hotter, sweeter, slicker, *dirtier* — 

Porthos *screams* a howl — 

He's *quivering* — 

(*Give* it to me!) 

And then he's spurting, spurting all over the bed, all over Daddy's hand, all over his own *belly* — 

He's clenching around Daddy's tongue — 

Clenching and flexing over and over while Daddy growls and growls and — 

Pulls *back* — 

Porthos *chokes* on his howl — but Daddy is just wiping Porthos's own spend all over Porthos's hole and licking it up, lapping it up, fucking it *into* Porthos's hole with tongue and *fingers* — 

Porthos hears himself *wail* — 

He spurts *again* and *collapses* on his face — 

(Oh, son... *good* boy,) Daddy says, and just continues to eat him out while Porthos pants and quivers and croons. 

Porthos has the distinct feeling that *neither* of them can do anything else. 

(That's *right*, son.) 

Porthos laughs helplessly and takes it. 

And quivers more. 

And just — 

Had he *had* even *one* single fantasy of *any* sort of Treville eating him out? In *any* way?

(I'm very interested in this answer.) 

Porthos laughs more. "Fuck, Daddy, I just. I'm so used to people thinking *I'm* odd for wanting to eat *them* out." 

(Bloody hell, son. I'm questioning your taste back here.) 

"But not my *taste*?" 

(Never that. Mm. I — mm. My son is delicious...) And Daddy licks and fucks him more *assiduously* — 

"Fuck — *fuck* — wait, I'm going to need something slick if you're going to keep using your fingers like that —" 

Daddy hums and tugs his fingers out immediately — 

"Aww —" 

Daddy laughs into Porthos's arse and keeps *fucking* him with his tongue — 

"You plan on staying there for — unh. For a while. Don't you." 

Daddy rumbles. 

Porthos nuzzles at the duvet and bloody well takes his licking. 

(About your fantasies...) 

"Mm? Mm. You — uh. Well. There was the — the courtier — fuck, I'm not going to get even a *little* soft —" 

Daddy pulls *out* — 

"Unless you do that —" 

"The *courtier*?" 

"Daddy. In my experience of fucking around these past few years?" 

"*What*?" 

"Nobility's *always* more deviant than everyone else." 

"I." 

"Though Aramis always said the clergy was a *close* second." 

"I'm offended on behalf of every soldier in France." 

Porthos snorts and coughs — 

"I am *so* offended that I'm going to be *excessively* deviant with you — 

"Oh fuck —" 

"But where to begin. Hmm." 

"Uhh..." 

"What *else* did the courtier do to you, son?" 

"Well, he *wasn't* doing it to me, that's the thing. He was doing it to the Queen while I watched. He uh. He was getting her all ready for me, like." 

Daddy is silent for long moments. 

*Long* moments. 

Long — 

"Daddy?" 

"You're a beautiful and creative young man, son, and I love you madly," Daddy says, and sounds exactly like — 

"You're going to be thinking about that the next time you're at the palace, aren't you." 

"The *entire* time Louis is whining, son." 

Porthos snickers — 

Daddy smacks Porthos's arse *hard* — 

"*Yeah* —" 

"Now what did that deviant courtier do to our lovely Queen to get her *ready* for you, hm?" 

"Well, the spanking was right —" 

"You want it too much. What else?" 

"Such an *arse* —" 

"Hop *to*, son." 

"Well, there was uh. He uh." 

"Yes?" 

"Lots of stretching, you know. Louis doesn't strike me as the type to be swinging much of a club." 

"He's actually fairly respectable —" 

"*Really*? Wait, why do *you* know that?" 

"A man sees a lot of things he'd rather not when he rises high enough, son." 

Porthos shudders — 

"Exactly. Now, about that stretching." 

"Right, well, it was in —" 

"No, wait."

"Mm?" 

Daddy strokes his hips. "You *avoided* saying something." 

"Uhh." 

"Something *especially* — you used the stretching and the presumed size of Louis's cock to distract me." 

"Well..." 

Daddy laughs evilly. 

Porthos is suddenly *covered* in gooseflesh — 

There's just — 

There's just no way in *hell* he's getting out of this without answering this question, and answering it *honestly*. 

"That's *right*, son. Pony up the goods," Daddy says, and smacks his arse again — 

"*Fuck*, Daddy —" 

"Don't make your Daddy *wait*." 

"Fuck fuck fuck —" 

"Though I will say that you're doing a damned impressive job of *blocking* the knowledge from me in your mind." 

"Oh, hunh." 

"Mm. You've gotten altogether too good at keeping secrets. I hate that you've needed to. But — that's for another conversation." 

"Right, right, I..." 

"Yes...?" And Daddy *caresses* his arse. 

Porthos shivers. "Well, there's a whole... a whole *thing* where the courtier-you has got the Queen on her knees —" 

"Up on the dais, son?" 

"Oh, yes. Sun shining in and gilding her pretty hair and everything." 

"Mm. Go on." 

"And uh. You're teaching her how to *properly* suck a man off, and you take your time with this, because she's been sheltered and all —" 

"But I thought we were all deviants, son —" 

"Well, some of them have been locked up in pretty little boxes before they're *given* to the deviants in *marriage*." 

"Or to the overgrown children, as the case may be. All right, keep going. I'm waiting *impatiently* for the deviance." 

Porthos blushes *hard* — 

He can't *believe* he's going to — 

No, no, *Daddy* is a deviant. He may judge Porthos for this, but only if it's not deviant enough by his measures for Porthos to be this *embarrassed* about it. 

"That's *right*, son," Daddy says, and starts massaging Porthos's bollocks — 

"Oh — fuck, Daddy..." 

"Earn more of this from me, son. Earn more of this *for* me." 

"Yeah... uh. You go slow with the Queen. It takes a *while* for you to spend — all over her face. You rub it in and uh..." 

"Keep. Going." 

Porthos licks his lips. He's getting harder. He can't help it. He's been tossing himself off to this fantasy for over a *year* — 

"Oh, son..." 

"I — yeah. You tell her she took too long. You tell her you need *relief* —" 

And then Daddy coughs — 

And coughs again — 

And *splutters* — 

Porthos blushes *harder* and smiles ruefully. "I take it I'm not hiding anything anymore?" 

"Bloody *hell*, son —" 

"Is that deviant *enough* for you, Daddy?" 

"Son, I — you —" 

"I have to say, I'm going to be disappointed in you if pissing on the Queen is *too* deviant for you —" 

Daddy *barks* — and rolls Porthos over onto his back. 

Porthos snickers — 

Daddy's eyes are *gleaming* — "You take that back!" 

"I said *if*, Daddy —" 

"You *implied* —" 

Porthos snickers *harder*. 

Daddy growls low and narrows his *eyes*, and, all right — 

Porthos raises his hands and sobers himself — "I'm behaving! I am!" 

"Are you." 

"Yes! Even though you *have* to admit you kind of lost it *spectacularly* —" 

"Right, off the bed, on your knees, open *wide*," Daddy says, and moves off the bed *himself*. And raises *one* bloody eyebrow. 

Porthos is staring with his jaw dropped — no, no he's not. 

He's moving, right off the bed — 

He's *kneeling* — 

He's opening his *mouth* — and he's raising *his* eyebrows. 

Daddy growls. "My boy needs to learn how to *behave*," Daddy says, and his eyes are still gleaming. 

You plan to teach me...? 

"I certainly do, son," Daddy says, and *rests* the tip of his huge, *animal* cock on Porthos's lower lip. 

The scents of his musk are massive, thick, *immediate* — 

The *feel* of his cock is so much more *sleek* than any other cock Porthos has *had* on his lip — 

And Daddy is — over him. 

Daddy is looming, flaring his nostrils again and again, staring *into* him — 

And everything about this moment is — bigger. 

Different. 

*More*. 

Porthos pants and feels himself lose about ten tonnes of his *attitude*. 

"Is that so." 

"I —" 

"Did you think I'd go *easy* on you, son...?"

Porthos flushes hard, cock *jerking* — 

It takes everything *in* him not to *reach* for it — 

Not to start stroking himself off just for *this* — 

Daddy narrows his eyes just a *little* — "Hands behind your back. *Lock* them there." 

"Fuck — yes, Daddy," Porthos says, and obeys, clutching his own wrists. "Thank you, Daddy." 

Daddy smiles *filthily*. 

It's intimidating as *hell* with those eyes still gleaming — 

"Did I let the Queen — and what did I *call* her while I was training her? — do that?" 

"Yeah, you did. And uh. You called her 'your Majesty' throughout." 

"We are *all* going to have an exciting and illuminating time exploring your assorted predilections and fixations, son." 

"Fuck —" 

"I'm going to fuck your beautiful face, son. And then? You're going to *suckle*, ever so gently, the piss out of my cock." 

Porthos's cock *jerks* again — "Daddy, I — do you even *like* that?" 

Daddy growls — "Is that your only concern, son...?" 

"Bloody *yes*—" 

"Then don't worry. I did this *all* the time with Reynard. And Laurent *quite* enjoyed whipping me for doing it with Marie-Angelique —" 

"*Shit* —" 

"As for your mother —" 

"Oh my God —" 

"You need better oaths, son." 

"Daddy —" 

Daddy laughs and *shoves* in — 

Porthos gulps *reflexively* — 

"Hnh — *good* boy." 

Porthos flushes again — 

*Deals* with having Daddy's cock in his mouth — 

In his *throat* — 

His father's *cock* — 

He swallows and swallows and groans in his chest — 

His cock is so *hard* — 

His balls want more *room* — he spreads his knees — 

Daddy growls — "You just gave me more of your scents... good boy..." Daddy licks his lips and keeps his cock *right* there. "As I was saying, your mother and I marked each *other*. Fairly often." 

*Fuck* — 

"She insisted we go outside to do it, though, and we can revisit *that* question next time," Daddy says, pulling out of Porthos's throat. "Breathe. Breathe *deep*." 

Porthos *obeys* — 

And does it again — 

And does it again — 

His throat *aches* with wanting Daddy's *cock* back, though — he wants it — 

He's *panting* — 

"Oh, son — I'll never deny you," Daddy says, and shoves *in* — 

*In* — 

*In* — and then he stays there. 

Porthos groans and *drools* — 

Writhes on his knees — 

Imagines taking this cock in his arse and *bucks* — 

Daddy growls. "All in due time, son," he says, and strokes through Porthos's sweaty hair — 

Strokes and tugs and *pulls* — 

"Oh, your curls... your beautiful curls —" He growls again and *grips* — 

Pulls out — 

"*Breathe*." 

Porthos groans and obeys, *obeys* — 

He can't do anything but *obey* when Daddy sounds like that — 

When Daddy *needs* like that, fills him *with* his need — 

"That's right, son... just take me..." 

Please!

Daddy grunts and thrusts — 

Swivels his hips and *grinds* in, and his knot is hot and fat and *throbbing* — 

Porthos *helps* him grind — 

Daddy growls and holds him in *tight* — 

Crushes him in so — 

"No, not — not yet," Daddy says, and starts fucking him slow and *hard*, slow and *dirty*, pulling out sleek and steady and then *shoving* in, over and over — 

Porthos is groaning and leaking all over his own belly, his thighs, the *floor* — 

It's so good, so *good* — 

"Who taught you how to take a cock, mm?" 

My friends, my — 

"It should've been *me*."

Porthos bucks and bucks, eyes rolling back in his head and just — 

He can't stop picturing it, he can't stop — 

He'd gotten to *see* himself once or twice in warped mirrors when he was a boy — 

He has a fair idea of what he'd *looked* like — 

And what it would've looked like for that boy to be on his knees to his Daddy. 

Daddy pants — 

Growls — "*Fuck* — *fuck* —" He *howls* and starts fucking Porthos *fast*, less hard, but *fast* — 

Porthos takes it, sucking and licking, taking it all, trying to make it *good* — 

"My *son* —" And Daddy snarls and uses his strength to hold Porthos's head still, perfectly *still* — 

He fucks him harder, dirtier, *wilder* — 

Porthos is all but bouncing on his *knees* — 

It's so *good* — 

"You *love* being fucked by your Daddy..." 

*Yes* — 

"You need it, you want it — " Daddy snarls again — 

Swivels his hips and *slams* in — 

Porthos's cock *spits* slick — 

He'd felt that in his *knot* — 

"Oh, *son*, oh, *son*. I —" Daddy *yanks* Porthos onto his cock with every thrust, every thrust that gets shorter and *shorter* — 

He's staying in — 

He's *rutting* — 

Oh — fuck, like a *dog* — 

"That's — that's *right*," Daddy says, and gives it to him so rough, so dirty, so hard, so *hard* — 

And Porthos knows that if Daddy *hadn't* made him spend with his tongue just a handful of minutes before, he *would've* made him spend just like this. 

On his knees. 

On his knees and *taking* it — 

Daddy barks and *shoves* in again — 

Again-again-again — 

"Suck my *knot*." 

Porthos *obeys* — 

Daddy barks out a *howl* — but doesn't let Porthos continue before he's shoving in again, *again* — 

Porthos kisses that knot every *time* — 

*Sucks* a kiss — 

"*Fuck* — son —" And then Daddy slams in and spurts right down Porthos's *throat*, spatter after spatter while he shudders and *croons* — 

Porthos groans and *sucks* — 

Daddy *gleams* at him — 

Please, Daddy!

"*Anything* for you," he says, pulling out and spilling on Porthos's tongue, all over Porthos's *mouth* — 

Porthos sucks it down and licks it *up* — 

Porthos wants it in his *beard* — 

Daddy pulls out the rest of the way immediately — and bloody well spends in Porthos's beard. 

Twice. 

Porthos pants and grins. "*Thank* you, Daddy." 

Daddy bows — slightly — and flourishes. 

"Don't fall down, now. You're an inspiration to me, and I don't want my good opinion of you to be —" 

"Open. *Wide*." 

"*Shit* —" 

Daddy laughs *meanly* — 

*Places* the tip of his cock on Porthos's lower lip again — 

"Now. I want you to understand something, son." 

"I'm listening..." 

"I want you to understand — well, a few things, actually." 

"Yeah?" 

"First, I want to take everyone you've ever done this with and tear them apart *slowly* —" 

"Oi!" 

"Son." 

"One of them was *Flea*." 

"Hm. All right, she's allowed."

"She damned well better be — *MMPH* —" 

Daddy sighs. 

Porthos swallows around the — barely — softening cock in his mouth. 

"Don't do that, son." 

What should I do, then? 

"Quiet down and accept," Daddy says, and pets his hair.

Right — that... right. Sorry, Daddy. 

"No, no, it's all right. You're protective of your loves, as all good dogs should be." 

Yes, Daddy — 

"I still want to have been the *first* one to mark you." 

Fuck, Daddy...

"I want to have taught you not to give this to anyone *unworthy* — and I know you *did* do *that*. Didn't you." 

Uhh... well...

"A deviant fine lady or two...?" 

Yeah, Daddy. It was just, you know, for *play* — 

"Some things never should be. Some things are bigger than that. *Greater* than that." 

Oh...

"You felt it with your Flea, I'd wager." 

I um... it was... mostly accidental? At first. 

"And then it wasn't." 

Yeah... And Porthos looks up into Daddy's eyes. It made me feel... we'd bled on each other — and *in* each other — countless times by then, Daddy. This was different. It felt like... now we were really *permanent*.

"My son. You changed your mind about that when it didn't work out." 

I didn't — I didn't really think it through that... but I guess I did. 

"I'll teach you better," Daddy says, and pulls out enough that just the tip is in Porthos's mouth. "I'll teach you everything you give me the *chance* to teach you." 

Porthos shivers on his knees — "Please," he slurs, and kisses the tip of Daddy's cock — 

"Son. Son... one more thing." 

Porthos looks *sharp*. 

"It didn't scandalize me because it was the Queen, and I believe she's somehow above all this. She's a person, like everyone else — though smarter and stronger than most — and I've smelled her on her delicious monthlies like every *other* woman." 

"Uh." 

Daddy shows his teeth. "She's half my age, son, and I have a little... stutter about that when it comes to women, as opposed to men." 

Porthos looks at Daddy. 

Daddy barks another laugh. "You're not the first person I've loved to give me a look for that. Just remember, son — your *mother* liked that stutter just fine." 

Porthos blinks — 

*Thinks* about it — 

Thinks about *why* Mum might've preferred a mate who was constitutionally incapable of lusting for the pretty *girls* — 

"Yes, son...?" 

"Got it, Daddy. But, you know, I'm not asking you to lust for tiny little girls with their hair still down — "

"Oh, fuck, son —" 

"Piping little voices calling your name —"

"I think I'm having a shock." 

Porthos laughs his own evil laugh — 

"Right. Your mother *may* have done too good a job raising you to be just like me —" 

Porthos can't *help* feeling all swelled up with pride for *that* — 

"That's right, son. You're the arsehole I deserve —" 

Porthos splutters — 

"The *delicious* arsehole —" 

"Oh, fuck, Daddy — *mmgh* —" 

"Now *suckle*, because all those thoughts about tiny little girls riding my cock have finally gotten me soft enough to do *this*," Daddy says, and lets fly. 

Just — 

Just — 

Right in Porthos's *mouth*, and it's hot, so hot — 

So salty and *hot* — 

And Porthos *hasn't* done it this way since it was Flea riding his face and losing control when she was spending — 

Flea giggling and shouting and trying to get away — 

He hadn't *let* her — 

They'd been *kids* — 

He'd needed it just this badly, just this *much*, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, *please*, and Porthos is suckling, licking, suckling like a babe at the nipple and taking as much as he can, taking every drop, taking his *Daddy* — 

He's blushing so *hot* — 

He's hot all *over* — 

Daddy is *marking* him — 

"Oh, son — *son* —" And Daddy groans and strokes Porthos's hair — 

His face — 

His throat — 

His trembling *lips* — 

His *hands* are shaking — 

"My *son*. I *love* you," Daddy says, and floods him with himself, with his piss and his power and all of his *emotions*, filling Porthos up and making Porthos *feel* him — 

Feel every bit of his hunger and need and *love* — 

Porthos is so *hard* — 

He can't keep himself from *gripping* Daddy's hips, holding him in, holding him *tight* — 

"That's it — oh, that's just right... my beautiful *son*..." 

He needs him so *much* — 

He can't — 

Oh the stream is slowing — 

Porthos sucks harder helplessly — 

Daddy *groans*, cock *spasming* in Porthos's mouth — 

He thrusts *deep* — 

His knot *flexes* — 

Porthos kisses it because he *needs* to — and the last spatter of piss hits the back of Porthos's throat. 

Porthos groans in his chest again and pets his Daddy, loves him, thanks him — 

Thanks him so much — 

Porthos's *cheeks* are wet — 

"My boy... mm." Daddy pulls out slowly and gently and drops to his knees in front of Porthos, hauling Porthos into a straddle of his thighs just as if Porthos *isn't* significantly larger than he is — 

It feels good. 

Getting kissed and licked and *tasted* feels even better.

After a while, Daddy pulls Porthos's head down against his throat, and that feels best of all, once Porthos wraps his arms around Daddy's waist. 

"Good boy," Daddy says, and licks his ear. 

"Yours."


	32. Bathtime!

Athos wakes up to the sight and feel of two *extremely* large dogs climbing onto Jason's bed and wedging themselves into the pile of cuddling bodies he, Aramis, and Jason have made.

This would be more than a little disconcerting if one of the dogs wasn't very clearly the dog that lives inside Treville, and — 

The other *must* be Porthos, and that's *new*, and terribly exciting, and the fact that his dog looks *nothing* like Treville's dog raises so many *questions* — but. 

Athos has missed Treville's dog. 

More than he'd realized. 

The dog turns away from the process of wriggling between Jason and Aramis *immediately* — 

Yips — 

And *pounces* on Athos. 

And Aramis. 

And Porthos. 

Athos coughs out his air —

So does Aramis — 

Porthos makes several aggrieved noises — but eventually Treville's dog is on top of Athos and wagging his short tail and licking Athos's face and neck and chest thoroughly. 

Which is wonderful right up until Athos thinks about everything *on* his chest and face after a night in bed with Jason and Aramis — 

Treville's dog — and Athos remembers, now, that Treville had told them to refer to him as simply 'the dog' — nips Athos's jaw — 

*Holds* the flesh between very sharp teeth and *looks* at him — 

And Athos huffs. "I suppose I *can* remember everything I was doing with *Treville* just this morning — yesterday morning? Hm. I honestly have no *idea* what time it is." 

"*Early* in the morning," Jason says, and turns more fully on his side, reaching out to stroke — Porthos. 

That dog *is* Porthos, because the spells that had made Treville and the dog two different people — and the dog has gone back to licking him — had not been necessary with Porthos. Or...

"Oh, no, Athos, you're on the right track," Jason says, and scratches Porthos's relatively ungenerous ruff as he licks Aramis's face *thoroughly*. 

Aramis is laughing quietly and licking Porthos in return — 

The dog is moving down Athos's body and *cleaning* him — 

*Thoroughly* —

Porthos yips and *stops* licking Aramis —-

"My Porthos? What is it?" And Aramis reaches up to stroke his massive head — 

Porthos is looking at what the dog is doing to Athos — 

The dog looks up and lolls his tongue at Porthos. 

Porthos barks and stands on the bed, straddling Aramis and very clearly staking a *claim* — 

And Jason laughs richly. "Oh, of *course*, Porthos. *No* one will interfere in your right to clean your mate." 

Porthos whuffs in obvious satisfaction and goes back to licking Aramis's *mouth* — 

"Mm!" Aramis giggles and strokes and — "Yes — *mm* — oh, yes, my — mmm — my *Porthos* —" 

Porthos rumbles with obvious *pleasure* —

The *dog* rumbles with obvious pleasure — and then starts urging Athos to spread his legs wider apart. Which. 

Hm."I..." 

The dog *looks* at him. 

Athos licks his lips — "I — sir —" 

The dog *barks* at him — 

Jason *titters* — and then coughs. "Terribly sorry. Don't mind me." 

Athos glares at Jason — and then stops that immediately, because the dog is holding a large portion of Athos's right thigh in his *teeth*. 

Gently for now, but — 

*Athos* coughs and turns back to meet the dog's gleaming blue eyes. "As you say, of course," he says, spreading his legs carefully — 

Very carefully *indeed* — 

"Oh, hound," Jason says, smiling fondly. "Is my punishment to *not* have any of that...?" 

The dog releases Athos and *snaps* at Jason — 

"It's *part* of my punishment; yes, I see. I look forward to the rest..." 

The dog lolls his tongue for that in a laughing grin which manages to be *softer* than Treville's usual, despite all the sharp teeth — 

Athos wants to study it — 

The dog whuffs at him impatiently. 

"I will wait," Athos says, and hums. "Do you prefer to be called Hound?"

This whuff is even *more* impatient — 

The dog is showing his *teeth* again — 

Athos licks his lips. "I — ah. That can all wait, of course. Please, clean me." 

The dog grins again, licks Athos low on the abdomen — and then licks lower and lower until he's licking Athos's cock — 

Athos's cock and *balls* — 

It — 

It is *precisely* like — 

"Having your genitals licked by a very, very large dog...?" And Jason is smiling brightly at him. 

Athos frowns — 

The dog *growls* — 

He doesn't stop *licking*, but he *growls* — 

Athos stops frowning — 

And Jason laughs rather uproariously. Hm. 

Athos decides to ignore Jason — and his stiffening cock — as best as he can, and check on Aramis and Porthos, instead. Porthos is being *thorough* about cleaning — soothing? — Aramis's welted chest and abdomen, occasionally pausing to sniff at one spot or another more deeply before redoubling his efforts. 

Aramis, for his part, is sighing and stroking Porthos's triangular ears, and arching up into Porthos's ministrations. He...

"Aramis..." 

"Yes, my Athos?" 

Athos will not grow accustomed to that. He doesn't want to. 

Aramis smiles at him warmly — 

Athos smiles back — 

The dog curls his *tongue* *around* Athos's *cock* — 

Which *jerks* — 

Athos remembers what he wanted to ask. "Aramis, I..." 

"Mm?" The smile on Aramis's face, now, is somewhat wicked.

"I... you've already come to terms with the fact that you will, at some point, be making love with a very large dog." 

"My Athos, we have *both* *already* made love with very large dogs," Aramis says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"I — I want to protest that." 

"Mm. And I know why and *how* you wish to protest that, and you do have a point. But..." And Aramis shrugs lightly. Easily. It... 

Athos licks his lips and stares, helplessly. 

He can't —

"My Athos?" 

"Aramis. I... I wish to know your happiness every day. I wish to *live* in it," Athos says, and he knows his voice is too low, too rough, too *harsh* — 

"That may have something to do with the fact that you're still getting your genitals very thoroughly licked," Jason says, in a manner he may, in fact, believe was helpful.

And then he titters. 

That — "Jason," Athos says, and smiles as wryly as possible, considering what's happening with his genitals — 

"Yes, Athos?" 

"If this is what you're like when you're happy..." 

Jason raises an eyebrow at him — 

The dog pauses in his ministrations — 

Aramis looks *less* blissful — 

And even Porthos stiffens, which is — wrong. It — 

"No, I... only this," Athos says. "I want more. I want — so much more. I want all of us to have it. I want — I feel I have been — unconscionably greedy." 

"Oh — Athos," Jason says, flushing and reaching across Aramis's writhing body to touch his face. 

"Please —" 

"Greed is —" 

But Athos absolutely cannot focus on whatever Jason says to finish the thought, as the dog has moved *his* focus to Athos's *arse*, and. 

And it is. 

It. 

There is...

"Still with us, Athos...?" 

"I think, perhaps, that I will stop speaking now." 

"And start screaming...?" Jason's tone is both curious and *warmly* amused —

Aramis has begun *chanting* Porthos's name —

The dog thrusts *deep* with his tongue — 

And Athos nods once — and screams.


	33. School! Now with enough time given to actually learn something!

It is Aramis's seventh day in his new home, and it has been wonderful — *beautiful*! But... there have been moments, here and there, of a very specific chagrin. 

A very... 

Treville. 

Aramis has not managed to... 

He and Treville have not made love, *somehow*, despite each of them having made love with everyone else here. It — it feels glaring. 

It *is* glaring. It *must* be, even though Treville has said and done nothing — he has barely done more than flirt gently! 

A wink, a warmly lustful look, a *gently* lustful tease — 

And nothing. 

Or... not nothing. Quite. Treville is very invested in his happiness here — the whole *pack* is — but...

Treville had asked very quickly what could be done to make Aramis's suite of rooms more comfortable *for* Aramis, and would not be put off with reassurances that *everything* Aramis had seen of his homes was beautiful and welcoming. 

Nor would he be put off with the equally true statement that Aramis intended to use any rooms he was given more as storage spaces for whatever belongings could not be moved into his *packmates'* rooms, where they would soak up their good scents. 

It — 

_"I understand that with *every* part of myself, Aramis, but —"_

_"No buts! We *both* know that I do not *wish* to be alone in beautifully-appointed rooms anymore."_

_"Aramis. You will *still* need moments to yourself, from time to time. Even if those times are far in the future. I *promise* that even the most dedicated pack-animals work that way."_

_"Even if they have starved? You are certain of this?"_

_"I am, son. I wouldn't push this otherwise — believe me when I say that I want *your* scents and self everywhere I can reach out and *have* them all the *time*."_

And that, of course, was honest...

And so Aramis had been forced to consider the questions of what he truly liked, and what truly made him feel comfortable, and what he truly found beautiful — and not merely *inoffensive* and *innocuous* to casual observers. 

He has not yet come up with any answers. 

He does not *know* if any of the places he had lived in on that other sphere were truly *pleasing* to the person he is *inside* himself. He — 

He doesn't know anything, because he has been living as a shadow of himself for the better part of fifteen years. This is troubling to the man he is becoming, although — and he must be honest at *all* times! — the *assassin* he will *always* be cannot help but nod in approval. 

There are few things more *effective* than shadows, when one must live and work on the edges of darkness and light. 

It is possible that he has been reading too many of Treville's poetry books. 

He has two on his bedside table and another resting on the pillow beside him even now. He is *in* his bare, pleasant, and pleasantly anonymous suite. 

He is alone, because he has asked his pack to *leave* him alone for a time. Until Treville has returned from the garrison. 

He is... trying to think beautiful thoughts. 

He frowns. 

He is not succeeding.

And Treville's soft, warm, and rueful laughter fills his mind, just like that. 

It — My Treville, are you well? 

(I could ask the same question, son,) he says, and caresses Aramis's spirit —

Oh — do *not*. You must finish your work, and not raise suspicions — 

(I'm on my way up the stairs to you. Unless you want me to stop?) 

I... hm. 

(Yes?) 

Were you... tamping yourself down? Your presence? Your power?

(A bit. Though not to hide from *you*. Jason is training Porthos in *his* suite today, and the energies in there are unpredictable enough without *my* power spiking and calling to Porthos's.) 

I see!

(*Do* you want to be alone —) 

I will never answer this question in the affirmative!

Treville coughs a laugh in their shared soul-space — 

When will you *listen* — 

(Right now, son,) Treville says, and Aramis can hear him opening the door to his sitting room — 

Walking in briskly, but still smoothly and quietly — 

Easily and evenly — 

"Checking me for injuries, son...?" And Treville is smiling as he walks into the bedroom and lifts the chair away from the desk. 

"I — more for fatigue, perhaps," Aramis says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "You do not need a chair, my Treville." 

"I don't want to —" 

"You *do* want to be close to me. You *do* want to touch me, and make love with me, and make me properly *yours*." 

Treville hums and smiles even more warmly — but still sits down in the *chair*. Close to the bed, but... 

"*Treville* —" 

"You're not aroused; you've been *delving* deep within some of your most hurt places; and you're still not entirely sure that you want a father for a lover." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

Treville raises an eyebrow at him. 

"I want *you*! All of you I can *have*." 

"Son. I will give you *everything* you want and need. Happily. *Joyfully* —" 

"Then —" 

"I am going to do my *damnedest* to *stop* you from taking things you *neither* want nor need." 

Aramis growls — 

Treville leans back in his chair, crosses his legs, and folds his hands over his trim little belly. "This is not to say that we can't negotiate." 

"I." 

"By which I mean, you could help me *convince* you to want a father for a lover," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And *that*...

"Yes, son?" 

"You... thought much about seducing the Aramis you lost." 

"I did. I thought about all sorts of ways to do it. Absolutely none of them would work with you." 

"Are you so certain of this?" 

Treville cocks his head to the side. "Are you admitting that I would *have* to seduce you?" 

Aramis winces and — lets himself lose control enough to grip the side of the bed. "I... am an impatient man, from time to time. And I can be reckless. And — I can do things which are hurtful to myself. These things have not changed, very much, since I was a boy." 

"No...?" 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "I... push all of that into sex. Sexuality. If I put all of my wrong behaviour in one place, then I can control it, yes? And stay *reasonably* safe." 

Treville nods thoughtfully. "A part of you *does* already know you're safe with me." 

"With *all* of you, my Treville. But, yes, specifically with you, as well." 

"Good. We can work with that. To answer your question, though... your recklessness, your impatience, your capacity for self-harm? The Aramis we lost was afflicted with *all* of these things, and he did *not* shove them all into his sexuality. If I didn't have a strong enough unit in Athos and Porthos to control him? I never would have allowed him to ride with us — much less to gain his commission." 

"Oh..." And Aramis is blinking rapidly, considering — 

Trying to put that into a context with everything *else* he had learned about the man in the past week — 

His pack has been sharing so *much*, but the picture isn't even close to *complete* — 

"No Aramis — no *true* Aramis — could ever be *small* enough for a picture to be *truly* complete, son." 

Aramis *stares* at Treville — 

Treville raises an eyebrow at him — 

Aramis blushes helplessly. "I — thank you, my Treville." 

Treville inclines his head. "On to business. His brothers eased him — calmed and *tamed* him — to a very large extent, but *that* could never be complete. Not without their strong hands on the back of his neck, and maybe not even *with* them there." 

"I — believe I see." 

"Yes...?" 

"*You* imagined taming him. Training and *teaching* him how to be correct." 

Treville hums again, smiling at a memory. "I loved his wildness too much to ever truly fall into a fantasy like *that*, son." 

"Oh — yes?" 

"Mm. But..." And Treville strokes his beard. "There are always... degrees. Training a man to know how and when to obey an order — even when they *think* they'd rather take things less seriously. That figured heavily. Training a lonely and *dishonest* man to take true companionship — and to give it, as well. Training a man who has been *alone* for nearly a decade — and who was horrifically abused before then — to take the *familial* love and affection of a man in a position of power over him, and to give it back in kind. *All* of that —" 

"And more, my Treville...?" 

Treville grins. "Oh, yes. I love my boys, Aramis — and I truly do think about all of you *incessantly*." 

Aramis hums and crosses his own legs. "I have begun to wonder how you find time to do anything *else*." 

"Delegation of responsibility is an important part of management, son." 

Aramis laughs helplessly — 

And Treville grins. "Your laughs are a highlight of my existence, son." 

"I — and his? Did he laugh much in your dreams of him?" 

"Oh, yes. I hated having to dress him down and chastise him in ways that *didn't* involve my hands on him. I hated knowing — *smelling* — that he couldn't feel how much I loved him." 

"Oh... Treville..." 

"I've learned that lesson, son. I will not make those mistakes again. But we're talking about me seducing *you*." 

"I..." 

"Or are we?" 

Aramis smiles ruefully and... he will be honest.

"That's right, son. *Give* me your thoughts." 

"Yes — yes. But they are... not ordered. Often, my thoughts of you — of everyone in this pack! — are disordered, my Treville."

"Comes with the territory of all strong emotion, son. I won't say *you'll* ever stop finding it irritating, though," Treville says, and — winks.

Aramis — does not bite his lip. He — he will speak. "My mother, my *one* mother, is dead. We have now spoken to three other Claudettes, and *all* of them have, at the very least, *flinched* the moment they saw my face." 

"Son..." 

"We have found a Julio Ortiz in the *process* of abusing an Aramis, and that Aramis very kindly allowed me to do very many violent things to Julio *first*," Aramis says, and frowns — 

He's gripping the bed much too tightly — 

He would be slow getting to his *weapons* if he needed them — 

He relaxes himself. He — 

"That's good, son. That..." Treville sighs and leans forward over his knees. "Can you breathe for me?" 

"I... I wish to," Aramis says.

"It's hard right now." 

"Yes, my Treville." 

"There's more you need to say to me about this." 

Aramis frowns more deeply — 

He stops that. He *calms* himself, *immediately* — 

He will not — 

"Shh, son, it's all right. You're... I think you're just a little uncomfortable with me." 

"You — my *Treville* —" 

"No, wait a moment. I'm not insulting you, or judging you, or rushing you, or casting aspersions, or *anything* like that. I'm just... telling you what I think, based on how you smell, and how your body moves when we're alone together." And he raises both eyebrows. 

Aramis — growls. 

And stands up — 

And begins to pace. With Treville here, he feels *less* like a caged beast. 

"Good, but —"

"I will listen to you." 

"All right, son. You were close to the answer, yourself." 

"*Say* it —" 

"Your parents are dead. You've murdered countless people in *place* of *one* of your parents — and, perhaps, to avenge the other — over the course of *years*. You have, over time, made *peace* — albeit a highly uneasy one — with the idea of having no parents, at all. 

"And yet you're here now, with me. A man who has claimed you for his own from the very beginning. A man who has brought you into his homes, and into his family. A man who has *willingly* and *cheerfully* shared his sons with you — and helped to make them your brothers. A man who —" 

"Stop — stop," Aramis says, and covers his face. 

He can hear Treville standing behind him — 

He can *feel* Treville staying... precisely where he is. 

Not coming any closer. 

Not — 

Aramis is not doing this *correctly*; he is failing his family, his *pack* — 

"*Son* —" 

Aramis turns to face Treville — "You have offered me *nothing* but your love and your welcome and your — your *healing*!" 

Treville raises his hands. "Did you think I never needed things like that, son?" 

"I — what? I know — I have *known* that many people have been wounded by their lives —" 

"Good. I'm one of them. And I'm telling you now that the *first* people who tried to love and care for me? Who tried to *heal* my *wounds*? Could not do it. They weren't right for me —" 

"No. *No* —" 

"*Not at that time*." 

"I." Aramis stops — 

And breathes — he cannot, quite, even his breathing. He can't —

He turns to face Treville, instead. "Please. I... they would've been right for you... another time? A... better time?" 

Treville inclines his head. 

"You are certain of this?" 

"They were my father's lieutenants, son. They were *most* of my *true* family — family, not pack — for my early childhood and adolescence. And? They knew I was a buggerer with one hell of a fixation *on* his father." 

Aramis blinks — 

*Considers*... but. He has already learned much of these lieutenants from Treville's stories. He has already learned of their *importance* — and their worth. 

"They... tried to comfort you? To ease you? Instead of trying to *correct* you." 

"That's right, son. They absolutely steered me toward nice, clean brothels — though some of them asked *repeatedly* if I was *sure* I wouldn't rather go with the female whores, and the one who was *most* in charge of my day-to-day education in how to act like a noble fretted like an old *woman*, but..." And Treville smiles with seeming helplessness. "They did their best to take care of me, and damned well *interrogated* every buggerer they could get their hands on — these would be the lieutenants who weren't that way inclined themselves — so they *would* have advice to give me. *Good*, *useful* advice." 

"And yet they could *not* take care of you? Not truly?" 

"I wasn't ready for them, son. I wasn't ready to be *parented* by anyone not my father — and certainly not by *more* of the men I wished would haul my ashes," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. 

Aramis blushes. "I... I am not certain —" 

"I know you're not, son," Treville says, and pushes at the air. "I'm not saying we're the same man — I never would. But... we *all* need to give ourselves time for *some* things. Not always the same things, and not always the same things with the same *people*. But...?" 

Aramis licks his lips and nods slowly. "Some things, I... yes." 

"Yes?" 

Aramis blushes again and nods, moving close to Treville again because he *can* — 

Cupping his handsome face — 

So lined with kindness and care and *passion*... 

"Son?" 

"I do not... I have not let myself know. Fathers like you." 

Treville takes a deep breath and nods. "Tell me more, please." 

"There were not so many — no. My mother, my good mother, she would've pointed *out* such a man to me if any of them had ever come into Madame Margaud's." 

Treville hums. "I imagine so..." 

"And... after..." Aramis represses a shudder. "I have *seen* men that I *believed* were good fathers. *True* fathers." 

"Yes?" 

"I... yes. I did not *understand* why I needed to — be away from them. To end my association with them so *quickly*." 

"Oh — son," Treville says, and winces — 

"I — was not ready to be near such... wealth," Aramis says, and smiles ruefully. "I believe I would have tried to steal it, and then not have had any idea what to *do* with it."

"Empty houses, son?" 

"Just so, my Treville. I — I do not want to make an empty house with you. I want — I want everything. All things. I want you to be my." But the words stick in his throat, leaving him flushed and overheated and *unfinished* and *staring* — 

And then Treville pulls him close, and pets him, and rumbles into his ear. 

"I — I —" 

"You don't have to say the words to get what you want and need, Aramis." 

"But — I — that is not how you *do* things —" 

"With my other boys? Mm, very true," Treville says, and *licks* Aramis's ear. "You may have noticed that they aren't you." 

Aramis coughs —

"You also may have noticed that I don't treat Porthos precisely the same way I treat Athos..." 

"No... you do not..." 

"And *you* don't treat them the same, even though they're both your brothers..." 

Aramis shivers all over and clutches Treville, presses close, *closer* — "Teach me. Please teach me." 

"I will, son. Every chance I'm given. Every moment we have," Treville says, and licks his cheek again — 

Again — 

And begins to rock them back and forth. 

Aramis tucks his face in against Treville's throat —

Treville rumbles more and squeezes him tighter. "We'll learn to be pack to each other together, son. Every moment of this is worthwhile. I promise you." 

Aramis *nuzzles* Treville's throat, precisely where he can most feel the rumbles, and smiles. 

He will *learn* to say the words, and mean them with all of himself. *That* is what he will start with. 

Everything else will come after, just as one cannot learn to dance with a blade until one has learned to *stand* with it. 

No man has ever taught him how to stand with *this*...

But Treville — and the rest of his pack — will teach him *all*.


	34. It's a fair bet that Treville is going to make everyone he loves fuck in, on, near, and around that chair as often as possible from now on.

Porthos wakes up because his power *jolts* him when Jason walks into the study. It's unpleasant as all hell, but Jason had damned well ordered him, as one of Porthos's *teachers*, to do that to himself. To make an *alarm* in himself for mages *other* than Aramis and Daddy — including sodding Jason.

Porthos scowls at him. 

Jason grins at him *meanly*. "*Very* good," he says — quietly, because *Athos* is still asleep. 

With his head still pillowed on Porthos's naked thigh. 

And his hand still wrapped round Porthos's cock.

Athos has been even *more* relaxed and cuddly since that visit to set things right with the other Laurent and Marie-Angelique — and visit with the men who could've been his *Uncles* — and Porthos has no shame whatsoever about taking *ruthless* advantage of it whenever and wherever he can. 

Jason hums and smiles *fondly* at Athos. "I honestly never imagined I would *ever* see something like this without the help of strong liquor, pleasure drugs, or, at the *bare* minimum, a blood-soaked dungeon." 

"Uhh." 

"Mm?" 

"*You* knew Athos was into pain — wait, what am I saying, you watched him tossing himself off." 

"I absolutely did. He rather made my cock want to run *away*." 

Porthos waggles his eyebrows. "To marry him?" 

Jason grins again. "You know me so well," he says, and the words are teasing, but the tone is just a little soft and wondering. 

Porthos grins back. "Better by the day, Uncle —" 

"And when you call me that, I lose *all* equilibrium — please don't stop." 

"Absolutely not. Why don't you sit down somewhere? Or — are you grabbing me up for another lesson? My cock would be heartbroken, but we can tuck Athos in with Aramis somewhere —" 

"I..." And Jason touches his tongue to his upper lip. 

"Mm? What are you thinking? Is something —"

"Nothing is wrong," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "I only wanted the chance to visit with the two of you for a little while." 

Porthos grins helplessly. There just hasn't been enough of that — not that there ever really *could* be — and...

And, yeah, he and Jason are smiling into each other's eyes and flushing a little. Maybe thinking about all the *ways* they can visit. 

"*Oh*, yes..." 

"All *right*, then. Let's wake Athos up —" 

"I'm awake. I'm simply communing with your musk," Athos says. 

Porthos splutters. "You *arse*." 

*Athos* grins. "Yours is far more important from this vantage point. Additionally, I would very much enjoy visiting with you, Jason. I have *many* questions about the books you recommended." 

"Of bloody course you want to talk about the books —" 

"I would like to take this moment to remind you —" 

"If you're going to say something about *my* work-ethic, Athos —" 

"I truly am —"

Jason clears his *throat* — and sits down on the floor by the fireplace, lighting it with a gesture and bloody shoving his hand in the flames — feeding himself, right. "I'm always amenable to talking about *books*. But *I* have a question, first, if I may...?" 

"Of course," Athos says — and doesn't actually take his hand from around Porthos's cock — 

"Yeah, Uncle, go on." 

"Is there a reason you chose Treville's *father's* chair for your latest romp?" 

Porthos looks to Athos — 

Athos shrugs with just his facial muscles — 

Jason snorts — 

And *then* Athos says: "It did seem rather appropriate, Jason." 

"Oh, of course —" 

"And, I might add," Porthos says, "it's been a fairly long time since this chair's had good, musky scents all over it. A dog can tell these things." 

Jason laughs hard. "You do realize *I'm* going to be the one who has to watch him staring wildly into *nothingness* after he wanks himself positively *brutally* to thoughts of the man fucking all of you while he *watches*, helpless and unable to touch?" 

"I..." Athos blinks and licks his lips. 

Porthos licks *his* lips. "That. That was right vivid there, Uncle." 

"You're *welcome*," Jason says, and turns to Athos. "About the books?" 

Athos grins. "Musa was speaking about the fundamental immorality of ignorance, and I recognize that from Socrates, but Musa seemed to be saying that ignorance was a quite literal death sentence, even for the death*less*..." 

And Porthos just... sits back in himself a little and watches. 

Watches Athos be *eager* and *happy* and *comfortable*. 

Watches Jason be *all* of those things and so much more as he cheerfully teaches both of them about a world — a *multiverse* — that is too vast to truly comprehend. 

Big enough to settle down in. To stretch *out* in, and, yeah, make yourself at home. 

end.


	35. Epilogue: Serving love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Te pretty much guarantees a burning need to write a sequel...

Aramis chokes and gasps, clutching at his torn, gushing throat — 

Trying to keep it from — 

From — 

He has to keep the bleeding from — 

He has to stay *conscious* for long enough that the children have time to get to *safety* — 

That is — that is the only — 

The only important — 

But. His throat isn't bleeding. It's not torn. It's not...

He is not in little Romain's playroom. 

He is *naked* — 

He is warm and naked and very, very *comfortable*, and he doesn't — 

Was that —

** YOU WERE NOT DREAMING, ARAMIS. **

And Aramis is flat on his back, gasping more, sweating, eyes rolling, mind *reeling* from the force of that voice — 

That — 

That *Voice*!

It had come from everywhere, from every*thing*!

He could feel it coming from every part of *Creation*!

It had come from *inside* him!

It — like God! Or —

But.

The Voice had not felt remotely *Christian*...

The laughter thunders and *rolls* through him, rocking and reeling him still more, making him hard, making him hungry, making him ache and fill with more joy, more love, more — 

Yes, that — 

It's *love*, and it's a love he has not felt for so *long* — 

**MY SON. I HAVE MISSED YOU.**

Aramis spends, long and desperately and *brutally*, screaming his joy, his need, his — 

This Mother is not *his* Mother, but — 

But this is — 

He can feel — 

He can *know* — this Mother is *all* Mothers, all *true* Mothers, and She loves him, knows him, wants him, needs him, *loves* him — 

This Mother *is* a god, one of the *first* gods, and he had been kept from true knowledge all his life, kept from true — 

There are so many gods!

And the knowledge comes, gentle and full of absolute, implacable Truth: Aramis has always belonged to Her.

Oh — 

Oh, it's — 

And She had missed him. 

But where had he been? Why couldn't She reach — 

The knowledge comes: She could not reach him while he was alive. She could not even see him properly, because, even though he is Her child, he had been made like the children for which Her vision is occluded.

Aramis shivers — 

Tries — 

Tries to think of a question to ask in the tangled *knot* of — no. Mother, I — if I am truly dead, what has become of my brothers?

She strokes him with what feels like *dozens* of warm, soft, but still *powerful* hands at once — 

He can't help but arch into it —

And then She shows him Porthos weeping in Athos's arms — 

Porthos and Athos making *love* — 

Just — just — 

Aramis had always *thought* that Athos *could* be attracted to Porthos, could *love* Porthos just this way — 

Oh, and he had said it! He had — 

And they are clinging to each other and weeping more — 

And then Treville is *biting* Athos's *arm* — and the knowledge comes that Treville is binding Athos to him magically, that Treville is an *earth*-mage, that he is one of the children She has always been able to see quite well. He is making Athos his *pack*.

And. 

There is another Aramis. He moves differently, dangerously, *threateningly* — 

He — 

But he is flustered by their questions. Staggered and *weakened* — 

The knowledge comes: The other Aramis had no brothers, and no Treville, and no Christ. 

Aramis grunts — and watches Treville and another man, a red-haired man who is *brimming* with power — 

The knowledge comes: He is Jason Blood, and there are many worlds where he belongs to Aramis, as Aramis belongs to him. 

Aramis blinks rapidly — 

He watches Blood and Treville attempt to *seduce* the other Aramis — 

He watches them *succeed*, even as they grieve for *him*. 

Had they planned for this? Had they planned to retrieve another Athos if they lost him? Another Porthos? 

The knowledge comes: They are both Her children, but She has never truly been able to control them, or even to guide them. 

I... you would have guided them away from this? 

The pause is... monumentally thoughtful. 

Aramis waits, and watches moments and glimpses of the other Aramis making love with Porthos. With — 

He is — 

He is taking Porthos's pain. 

And Porthos is taking his, just as a part of Aramis had always known Porthos *longed* to do with him. *Would* do with him if Aramis had only given him the *opportunity* — 

He had refused Porthos so many times — 

He had done it for a standard of behaviour he did not hold other people to, did not *believe* in for other people — 

He had *denied* himself, denied both of them, and now — 

And the Mother is no longer showing him Porthos and the other Aramis. Aramis is looking at *Maman*, and *himself*, when he was a *boy* — 

She is gripping his hair, and frowning into his eyes — 

They are in her office —

He remembers every — 

Every *scent* — 

And she is teaching him about regret. About...

'Regret is only useful insofar as it allows us to *not* make the same mistakes *repeatedly*.' 

Yes, Maman, *yes*, but I failed, I did wrong, I strayed from your *lessons*, your good *lessons* — 

And there's a *grip* on his hair *now* — 

The rising scents of musk — 

The brush of silk and softness against his cheek — 

He is *hard* — 

The knowledge comes: A Mother teaches Her children. A *good* Mother also learns from them. 

"Wh-what? Please —"

The knowledge comes: When Treville realized that he had made terrible, irrevocable mistakes with his pack, he sought to alleviate their effects *on* his pack, since the mistakes could not be corrected. 

"Yes, Mother, I see this, I — I can — I do not truly *blame* them, I am only — I would never wish their *sadness* — I do not mean to be so *small* —" 

The knowledge comes: Aramis is Her child, and is as bound by his nature as She is bound by Hers. There is no passion, no love, no need, no fire, that does not suit him. 

Aramis grunts and *blinks* — 

The knowledge comes: She cannot correct the mistakes Treville made, and She cannot put Aramis's soul in rotting flesh. But there are choices. 

And *then* Aramis understands — a little. "I... can live?" 

The knowledge comes: He could be born again, into the body of an infant. He would lose the vast majority of his knowledge — 

"No! I — I apologize — I — please —" 

Her amusement fills him as She strokes him, tugs his *hair* — The knowledge comes: He has always been a beautiful seed. 

"I — thank you! But —" 

The knowledge comes: He could live as a revenant. He would retain all of his memories and many of his skills and abilities. He would gain other skills and abilities — and an endless, fathomless hunger for the spirits of the vulnerable.

"... no, thank you." 

The knowledge comes: She is pleased by that answer, as She would have had an even harder time communing with him were he to become a revenant. 

"Oh. Yes?" 

The knowledge comes: Revenants are the children of Death, and She does not share them with other gods. 

"Then — I — shouldn't *I* be with Death? Not that I wish to be! I am enjoying my time with you very much!"

She strokes him more, and her amusement spans continents. *Spheres*. The knowledge comes: He has always been *Her* child, and was destined to return to Her at his death. 

"Oh. I wish to *study* this *extensively*, Mother!" 

The knowledge comes: There are many libraries beyond death...

"But... they cannot be reached if I choose to live," Aramis says, nodding and wincing and biting the tip of his thumb. "Are... are there other *options* for living?" 

And She shows him an image of a young Aramis in a *dungeon*. He's been beaten, and he's glaring fixedly at the lock on his cell door. 

At — 

But at that age, Aramis had not yet known *how* to pick locks. 

And, even if he had known, he hadn't known very well how to survive in the woods surrounding the — but. He does not know, truly, where that dungeon —

No, it would be a *school*. Yet another Jesuit school with yet another Aramis trapped in its bowels and — 

The knowledge comes: He could help, if he wished. 

Aramis blinks. "I... could?" 

The knowledge comes: He could share that Aramis's soul, and give him all the knowledge and experience he had accrued over the course of his life — and help them both to gain still more. 

Aramis gasps and *scrambles* to his feet — 

There are roots brushing his hair, but he doesn't care, he must — 

He *must* — 

The knowledge comes: Once She sends him to that sphere, to join with that other Aramis, She will not be able to commune with him anymore. Not until they die again, or until a particularly powerful earth-mage *brings* them to Her. 

"Oh — Mother..." He tries to reach for — something. Anything. A *touch* — 

She grips him everywhere, inside and *out*. She holds him, rocks him, crushes him in vast arms, so soft, so loving and strong and warm — 

He is loved — 

He is *loved* — 

"You always have been," *Porthos* says, in a — his voice is so low, so *rough* — 

Aramis turns — Porthos is *here*, with him, — 

And so are Athos and Treville and Blood and — the other Aramis. Porthos is holding the other Aramis by the back of the *neck*. 

Athos has a hand on Porthos's bicep — 

Treville has his hand at the small of Blood's back — 

They are all staring so — but.

But where exactly are they? He has not had time to *think* — 

"I imagine you haven't, son," Treville says, and he's weeping even as he smiles. "The All-Mother doesn't piss about." 

Porthos coughs a laugh — 

Sniffles — 

"That — that She bloody doesn't. Oh, fuck, Aramis, I... I can see *through* you, and it's killing me." 

Aramis blinks — 

Stares down at his hands — they look solid enough to *him*. 

He *feels* solid to himself — 

The knowledge comes: This would not be the case were his sense of self not so secure. 

"That is fascinating," Athos says, and his eyes are red, and damp, and he's licking his lips — "I... I can't decide if I wish to study you or simply stay right here where I may look at you... oh. That was a lie." 

"Athos..." 

"I have learned much of you, Aramis," the other Aramis says, with a softly-wry smile. "I know that you are a beautiful and brilliant and funny and loved and loving man, among *many* other things. I know that you made your loves happier, and smarter, and *better*. It is my hope to live up to your example." 

That — hm. "And do better wherever you can?"

The other Aramis smiles more brightly and shrugs. "We would not be our *Mother's* children if we did not strive... brother." 

Aramis coughs a laugh despite himself — 

The other Aramis *grins* — 

And Porthos and Athos look back and forth between them with wonder and *joy*. With *hunger*. With *need*. With — 

They are drinking in the *sight* of the two of them, and so are Treville and *Blood*, drinking them in as if they have thirsted for an eternity, and. 

And the knowledge comes without the Mother's push, without anything but a breaking, sweet, strange realization within himself: *This* is what they've truly wanted, for however long Aramis has been dead. *Two* Aramises, or possibly as many Aramises as would fit in whatever house they were staying in. 

He — *they* — are *loved*. 

"For who you are, brother," Porthos says, and continues to drink him with his eyes. "For *all* of who you are." 

Aramis shivers — and — 

And his mother, his good mother, had *always* told him that his finest quality was his mind, and its ability to adapt, and move, and think in entirely new ways at speed, when necessary. He must — 

He must do this thing right now. 

"Oh... brother..."

Aramis holds up a gentle hand to Porthos, beautiful Porthos — and turns to Blood. "We have not met, but I do not think the Mother would have brought you here for no *reason*, M'sieu Blood." 

And Blood smiles ruefully, stepping forward. "Aramis... I have loved you from a distance. I urged Treville to be honest with you — and your brothers — about his feelings for you in part so *I* could — eventually — share my own feelings. If I had been honest about *that*, I daresay mon amant wouldn't have waited. We all made mistakes." 

Aramis feels himself *flush* — 

He doesn't *know* this man — 

He doesn't — he looks to Treville — and sees only love in his eyes, and warmth, and hunger, and — 

And so much, so *much*, and it's all a confirmation of what Blood had said, all — 

He looks back to Blood, and — 

The knowledge comes: If he comes to know the Jason Blood on the sphere where he will be sent, the opportunities for study will be extensive. 

Blood blinks — 

And Treville *barks* a laugh. "Matchmaking, Mother?" 

The knowledge comes: Sometimes even a child as perfect as Treville can be made even more perfect by the application of a beating. 

And then the atmosphere... lowers. And grows heavy. And *pointed*. 

Treville is yipping and *wheezing* laughter — 

"Uhh... right. Give me just a moment, precious," Porthos says, releasing the other Aramis and smacking Treville on the back of the head hard enough that he *staggers*. 

Aramis stares. Just — stares. 

Treville croons and yips *more*. 

And Athos clears his throat. 

Aramis looks *away* from his erstwhile Captain — 

Athos smiles wryly. "The All-Mother has told us of Her plans for you —" 

"And we all *sincerely* hope that the *first* thing you do after breaking the young Aramis out is murder *all* the priests, brother," Porthos says. 

"As slowly as *possible*," the other Aramis says, and nods once.

"But... there's what you'll do after that. And where you'll *go*," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. "I know where *I* want you —" 

"I will *find* you and bring you *home*!" 

"Oh — brother," Porthos says, eyes heating as he licks his lips. "Maybe... maybe you can drum up some help, eh? Grab up Treville and Jason and get *all* of us together." 

And the All-Mother floods him, *fills* him with knowledge about Porthos's family, *Athos's* family, Treville's first *pack* — 

Aramis shudders and grins, and *knows* it must look utterly *mad* on his face — 

"It looks perfect, brother —" 

"Beautiful. *Beautiful*," Athos says. 

"You have *always* been exceptional," Jason says — 

"We will always be *brothers*," the other *Aramis* says — 

"That look..." Treville growls. "It makes me want to know what you're *thinking*. And then it makes me want a whole lot of other things," he says, and winks. 

"I am thinking, sir, about the fact that the Mother has just given me the *tools* I need to build a family — a *pack*! — on that other sphere. I — I will be able to ease *pain*." 

The other Aramis shivers. "You'll be able to serve." 

"*Yes* —" 

"You did that, son," Treville says. "You *both* did that beautifully, each and every day —" 

"Yes, but *more*, sir! I — the Mother has shown me so much *hurt*, so much loneliness, so much hunger, so many empty *spaces* that must be *filled*. And now I know how to *do* this thing." 

And. And Porthos is weeping again, just a little. 

"Oh — brother —" 

"Brother," Porthos says, hungry and low and *smiling* through his tears. "You're going to serve *love*." 

Aramis blinks — and nods slowly. "Yes. Yes, I *will*." 

"I always wanted that for you," Porthos says. "For both of us." 

And Aramis can be — just as honest. "I wanted the same. For — for all of us." He looks to Blood. "I did not know you, but I — I can *feel* that you are the beloved of my loves, and I can see this thing, as well. It is no hardship to imagine more." 

Blood takes a breath. "Thank you for that, Aramis. Lovely, beautiful, warm —" And when Blood growls, every root above them curls up and *away* — "Hm. Sorry about that." 

Porthos smacks him. 

Blood laughs delightedly — 

And Athos hums. "I dreamed of all of us together, Aramis — though I mostly didn't allow myself that much happiness." 

"Oh, *Athos* —" 

"I've learned that lesson. I want to know — please promise me — promise all of us — that when you are serving love on that other sphere, you will allow love to serve *you*, as well." 

Aramis blushes — 

And the Mother shows him Maman talking about *regret* again. 

Makes him *feel* her talking about — 

Aramis coughs — "I — yes. I will — yes." 

The other Aramis laughs ruefully. "I understand everything *about* that surrender, my brother." 

And that...

That is a *warmth* that is — 

He has never had it. He had never *expected* it — "I am very glad that you *do*, my brother," Aramis says, flushing hard and wanting... 

He is not certain what he wants, other than more brotherhood, more intimacy, more *truth* — 

"And, perhaps..." And Treville grins. "The chance to share everything about your mother — the single most important person in your life for the first two decades *of* your life — without having to explain all the nuances?" 

Aramis blinks — 

Licks his *lips* — 

And claps his hands. "Well, on that note..." 

Porthos guffaws.

Athos *snorts*!

The others laugh and grin and love him. *Love* him!

This is what Aramis will keep for himself, until the very end of his consciousness. This love, this pleasure, these smiles for him that speak of acceptance and understanding and pleasure, so much *pleasure*. 

These smiles that speak of *forgiveness* — for haven't they all trespassed? But... 

But perhaps he can think deeply of religion another *time*, because Porthos is moving close — 

And the other Aramis is reaching for him — 

And the All-Mother is filling him again, flooding him again, and he feels so real, so — 

If he can just take a breath — 

Touch warm *skin* — 

Rough fingers on his cheek — *yes*! And Porthos gives him a wondering look as he kisses him on both cheeks and then kisses him lingeringly on the mouth, and Aramis should not, should not, should *not* be molesting the hand of the other Aramis — 

But he is, and the other Aramis is giving it back; they are learning the differences between their calluses, and this, too, is brotherhood. 

When they grip each other simultaneously, Aramis can only gasp into the kiss — 

Swallow Porthos's *growl* — 

Kiss Porthos *back* and nuzzle, nip, promise to always love, always care, always *remember* the many lessons he had tried to teach, tried to *give* — 

Porthos groans and *bucks* against him, *grinds* and they're both shaking, panting, licking at each other — 

And then it is Athos, and Aramis is being kissed brutally hard, being pinned against the dirt wall, being moaned into, being *taught* something about desire held banked for too *long*. 

And then it is Treville, and the other Aramis is still gripping his *hand*, but Treville is pulling his hair, and sniffing at his throat, and *biting* his throat, and *devouring* Aramis's *cries*, slipping a lengthening tongue deeper and deeper, and Aramis can only nod and make incoherent promises in return. 

And then it is Blood, and he moves close but doesn't touch, and doesn't touch, and doesn't — 

The knowledge comes: No child of the All-Mother may touch Jason Blood without first sharing blood. 

Aramis doesn't even have a *body* — 

At least he doesn't *think* he does...

"But you *do* think you have a body, beautiful one," Blood says, and smiles wryly. "A body with blood positively *coursing* through it." 

He blinks — "And — thought is all it takes..." 

"Just so." 

Aramis licks his lips — and grins. 

"Oh fuck, I know that grin," Porthos says. 

Athos snorts again — "So do I, and I'm very happy that the All-Mother has no breakable property down here." 

Treville laughs *hard* — 

The other Aramis *strokes* the back of Aramis's hand with his thumb —

And the Mother fills them all with her amusement and joy of them. So — 

So *much* joy, and all Aramis can do is bare his *throat*, offer himself to Blood, offer himself to *love* — 

"Oh... Aramis..." And Blood doesn't hesitate, lunging for him and biting, so quick and hard — 

So quick and hard and *deep* with sharp teeth — 

He's growling so *darkly* — 

He's holding Aramis utterly *still* — 

He's sucking and *lapping* at all the blood, *drinking* him and *moaning* and *caressing*, and Aramis can't hold in his cries, can't hold in the jerk of his cock, the need he feels, the *want* he feels as Blood *shakes* for him — 

For *him*!

(You would be enjoying this significantly less were you alive...) 

"Wh-what...?" 

(You're right; it *absolutely* doesn't matter at the moment,) Blood says, and sucks *harder* — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

Bucks and *spasms* — 

And then there's a hand on his cock, warm and hard and callused and *strong*, so *strong* — 

"Oh — oh, fuck, Aramis —" And Porthos sounds so *hungry* — 

Yes, *yes*, he needs to fuck that hand — 

"Fuck, that's so — keep stroking — no, squeeze a little *harder*," Porthos says — 

And they do just that, making Aramis choke on a grunt, *shove* into that fist, *whine* for the drag of those calluses — 

He needs — 

He *needs* — 

There are shadows *everywhere*; he can't see — 

"Would you like to....?" And that was Blood, and he's no longer sucking his throat, he — 

Aramis's throat feels hot, bruised, *sensitized* — 

"It's *all* of those things," Blood says, and *presses* on the bite-mark. "Now. Would you like to be able to *see*." 

"Please please *yes*!" 

And then there's a *mouth* on his cock, hot and wet, obviously skilled, obviously — 

Practiced — 

Up and down and up and a hard suck for the head — 

Down and there's a hand playing with his balls —

Up and *humming* — 

Just the way he *likes*, and it has to be someone who's watched him, but it doesn't *feel* the way he's always imagined Porthos's mouth would feel. He's *had* women with plush mouths, and — 

And. 

The shadows are gone. 

The view is clear. 

He is thrusting into the other Aramis's mouth — and now into his *throat*. He is — 

And for a moment, he can only question himself: Was he ready for this?

Had he signaled his readiness for this somehow?

Did it seem like the next logical step?

*Was* it the next logical step, and had Aramis simply missed that? 

He comes up with no answers, and he strongly suspects that the reason for this is that the other Aramis is an *expert* at playing with the balls of Aramises, whether or *not* he's ever sucked another Aramis's cock. 

He's truly wonderful at that, too — 

He's — 

"Son," Treville says, gently and implacably at *once*. He has one hand on Aramis's shoulder and the other on the back of the other Aramis's bobbing *head*. 

"I — I —" 

"Do you need this to *stop*, son." 

"*Please* —" 

"Yes or no, son. Do you need it to stop." 

"I do not know! I — I — he is my *brother* and he — he l-loves me — I need to be loved!" 

Treville growls low, hungry, hard — 

And they are all touching him, all — 

They are all on him, with him, holding him — 

Stroking and pinching — 

Kissing and *suckling* — 

Biting and — 

And oh, oh, Athos is *gripping* his balls, *pumping* them — 

And there are strangely-solid shadows holding him, cupping and caressing him, *moving* him — 

Laying him down flat on his back, spread-eagle — 

They fall on him like *wolves*, like the pack they *are* — 

They cover him and — 

And the other Aramis comes at him from the side, grips his cock by the base and strokes fast, *roughly*, even as he nibbles and tortures and teases the head — 

And Porthos and Blood are *sharing* his chest, scratching him even as they suckle and nip and *bite* at his nipples — 

Their tongues are so long — 

So strange — 

So — 

And then Athos rubs Aramis's sac all over his *face*, all over his *beard*, and — 

It's so — 

"Please, let me feel your *lips*!" And he doesn't know which of them, of *any* of them, he's saying it to — 

"Why not all of us?" And then Treville leans in and kisses him softly, sweetly, so lovingly — 

So tender and so warm and so — 

He kisses Aramis all over his face, all over his throat and jaw — 

He kisses Aramis's ear and growls — "I've loved you since I've known you, son..." 

"Please — *please*!" 

And the next kiss is hard, *deep* — 

And so is the next — 

And — 

And Treville is fucking his *mouth* with his long tongue, his *dog* tongue, and it goes so far, it *fills* Aramis's mouth — 

Aramis is whining, bucking, reaching for them, for ways he can give this pleasure *back* — 

"Serve us this way, brother. Serve us..." And Porthos growls and bites a path *around* his nipple. "We'll teach you how to *give* yourself." 

He needs to, he *needs* to — 

And Blood pulls back with a messy, filthy *slurp*. "You need to *spend* for us, Aramis. Only that. You need to serve. Our. *Love*." 

Aramis *moans* into Treville's mouth — 

Shakes — 

And Treville grips the back of his *neck* even as Athos — it *must* be Athos — begins rubbing Aramis's *hole* with hot, rough fingers — 

Aramis spreads his legs and *sobs* —

Cries out so *high* — 

"Oh, son," Treville says. "That's perfect. That's... mm. Give it to us. Give over." 

"Give us *everything*," Porthos says, and *claws* his nipple — 

Aramis arches — 

The other Aramis *swallows* him again — 

Swallows around him over and over and — 

Athos is pressing and *teasing* his hole, teasing so *cruelly* — 

Aramis can hear someone gasp — 

"All of us, truly," Blood says. "In spirit, anyway. Here, Athos..." 

And suddenly the fingers on his hole are *slick*, slick and even *warmer* — 

Aramis whimpers and tries to spread wider, tries to offer more, so much — 

"*Everything*," Treville growls, and *bites* him all over his face and throat — 

And bites his throat *hard* — 

*Holds* the bite, holds *him* — 

Aramis *clenches* — but Athos is trying to push in! Athos wants to fuck him with his fingers, wants to —

Oh, and he can, he *can*, this is the *proof* that he can, that everything he'd learned for his *father* was *wrong* — 

"Not the *love*, brother," Athos says. "Not the *peace* and the *freedom*. Now *open*." 

Aramis *shouts* into Treville's mouth — but. He can hear? Can they all?

"We've *been* hearing you, brother, and it's *gorgeous*," Porthos says, and *nips* him again, right — right on his nipple — 

"Ai — *oh* —" 

"You're a spirit in the presence of a powerful spirit-*mage*, beautiful one — not to mention the presence of your Mother," Blood says, and strokes him *covetously*. "There can be no blocks, no hesitations, no *stops* on *any* of us, despite the numerous curses on *me*."

That... 

That bears so much *study* — 

He wants to *know* — 

And Blood — *Jason* — is laughing hard — 

Porthos is laughing and *nuzzling* his chest — 

Treville is rumbling into Aramis's *mouth* — 

So animal, so — 

Aramis groans and *flexes* open — 

"Perfect," Athos says, and pushes in with one finger, just one, and Aramis wants to say that he's had this with women, many women, he can take more — 

(We can hear you perfectly, my brother...) And that was the other Aramis — 

He's humming and bobbing his *head* again — 

Faster and faster and — 

And Aramis *shouts* — and *chokes* on it, because Athos is pushing in with *two* fingers, so quickly, so sure, so — 

But he could hear, just as the other Aramis, his brother, his *brother*, had said — 

(Do you wish me inside you this way, as well, brother...?) 

Oh — *Athos*!

(Never doubt that I've longed for this — *all* of this,) he says, and *crooks* his fingers — 

Aramis *yells* — 

Treville kisses him again, again and *again* — 

Growls and — (Son, there's nothing we don't want with you. There's no love, no joy, no *intimacy* we don't desire. Remember that when you're serving love other places, with other versions of us.) 

I — 

(*Remember* that,) Porthos says, stroking up to Aramis's throat and squeezing gently before switching places with Treville — (*Remember* that *always*, brother. Everything you do just to be yourself, just to be the man you *need* to be? Is going to make the men *we* need to be love you *madly*.) 

(Hungrily,) Jason says — 

(*Desperately*,) Athos says, and begins to fuck him fast, fast and so sweet, so — 

His belly drops — 

He is quivering and needing and aching for more, so much *more*, and — 

Aramis can't stop grunting, can't — 

He wants to speak, to — 

He wants to tell them all how much he's loved them, how much he's needed their love, how much he's needed to give them everything *they* needed — 

He wants to be coherent, beautiful, charming, intelligent — 

He wants to be the man his *mother* taught him to be, at long last, and only this thing, only ever — 

(I have learned, my brother,) the other Aramis says, and begins to hum the light, sweet songs that Madame Margaud always preferred even as he *works* himself — 

Aramis shouts and *bucks* — 

Treville makes an *appreciative* noise and squeezes Aramis's balls *roughly* — 

Leans across Aramis's chest to kiss *Jason* — 

They laugh into each other's mouths, so happy, so sweet, so — 

(I have *learned*,) the other Aramis says again, (that it is better to be the man you are, even if that man is not *always* the man you wish to be.) 

Aramis frowns into Porthos's kiss — 

(We love *you*, brother,) Porthos says, and lengthens *his* tongue — 

Fills him, *fills* him — 

(Everything you are,) Athos says, and fucks him *harder*. (Everything you've *become*.)

*Please* — 

(You are *beauty*,) Jason says, and shadows move to coil around Aramis's ankles and wrists and throat. (When you are strange, when you are secretive, when you are contradictory... mm. We must give our loves the *chance* to love us, mon grand. *Us* — and not the pretty images we believe they *should* love.) 

But — please, I — 

And Treville growls and claws his *abdomen* even while he *pumps* his balls. (When we present our loves with pretty images, we are presenting them with *lies* — and telling them, baldly and flatly and coldly, that they aren't *worth* our truths.) 

Aramis *stiffens* — 

(Not that, brother. Come back to us. Be with us now,) Porthos says, and kisses him softly, sweetly —

I — I — 

(You gave us everything you *could* give us of you — the *real* you. Including all your secrets and contradictions. Didn't you.) And Porthos licks two long stripes up Aramis's cheeks — 

Treville *cradles* Aramis's balls in his hand — 

Jason pets him everywhere he can reach with his hands — and his shadows — 

Athos stills his fingers inside him, so thick and *good* — 

And the other Aramis, his *brother*, suckles him *lightly*. 

Aramis shivers and — and thinks. 

(That's right, son. You can do it.) 

Yes — yes, sir. 

Aramis focuses as best as he can on — on the *lesson*, and — 

And they are all buoying him. They all *love* him. They have all loved him for — 

Well, the other *Aramis* has not loved him for years, but — 

But — 

Aramis swallows, and nods. This — this is clear. The Mother is nudging him, gently, with images and sensations of what love has meant to him all throughout his life, all of the *good* things, and all of the things he'd *never* been able to *truly* lie to himself about. *This* is love — and not all of those false things. 

Not — 

Not the pretty lies, and not the pretty images he held in front of himself in hopes of gaining... what?

What could *anyone* gain by having an *image* loved?

Porthos, Athos, Treville — they had always reached for the truth of him, for the *heart* of him. They had been, at turns, gentle, crude, ruthless, ribald, reckless, wry, *wise*... so many things. They had used every weapon at their disposal to find *him*, because they — 

Because the parts of him which they had *already* seen had attracted them, and filled them with the desire to have more, and more, and more than *that*. This is logical. This is — this is *truth*, and Maman would be so disappointed in him for being *slow* — or. 

Or, perhaps, she would hold him close. 

Perhaps she would *grip* him in her strong arms, and *yank* his hair, and bite his *ear*, the way she had done when Aramis had returned to her after having been in danger in one way or another. 

After... 

After he could've been lost.

And Treville is rumbling and petting Aramis's abdomen with the hand he doesn't have on his balls — 

And Jason is smiling down at him and *teasing* the insides of Aramis's wrists with his shadows — 

And Porthos — Porthos and Athos look so thrilled, so *proud* of him — 

So happy *for* him — 

(My brother,) the other Aramis says, (you have given yourself the tools to not just survive, but *thrive*. *Anywhere*.) 

Everywhere! I — I... just like we *wanted*, my brother — 

(Oh, *yes*! But... I believe you will find a home. A *true* home.) 

Aramis grins helplessly, feeling thrilled, feeling excited, feeling that same lust for movement, travel, *discovery* that would get him in so much *trouble* when he was a *boy*... 

And feeling the love and joy and wonder of — 

Of this family, this *pack*, that will always be his, even when he is far from them. 

(Always, brother,) Porthos says, and kisses him again, again — 

Growls and licks and nips him, *bites* him — 

Aramis pushes into it as best as he can — 

And then Jason's shadows are holding him *perfectly* still again, holding him so — 

(I can feel you *writhe*, beautiful one. I can feel you *everywhere*,) he says, and pinches both of Aramis's nipples — 

Aramis groans — and *sobs* into Porthos's mouth when Athos starts *fucking* him again *as* the other Aramis starts fucking himself on Aramis's cock — 

And Treville is rumbling and rumbling as he *massages* Aramis's balls. He — 

It's so perfect — 

It's so — 

There is nothing to *hide*!

There is nothing — 

These men, they can know everything of him — they *do* know everything! Or... do they?

Please, let them know everything! He wants to share, to give — 

Porthos pulls back — 

"No —" 

"You're giving us every part of you, brother. It's — it's so beautiful," Porthos says, and he sounds dazed, looks *wild* — 

His eyes are gleaming *green* — 

He — "I've always *loved* you, brother!" 

"You, Porthos! *You* — *mmph* —" And this kiss is as wild as Porthos's eyes, as rough, as loving and strong and solid and *perfect* — 

And Jason is panting and holding him tighter, holding him tighter everywhere, please please *please* — 

Jason growls and *grips* him — 

Aramis's cock spasms — 

He clenches around Athos's thick *fingers* — 

*Athos* growls and fucks him *faster* — 

Aramis *howls* — 

*Treville* growls and claws him again, and Aramis is covered in gooseflesh, aching, needing, needing so much more — 

Needing — 

(This, my brother...?) And the other Aramis bares his *teeth*, just — just so — 

Aramis *screams* into Porthos's mouth — 

(Fuck, son, your *scents* —)

(You're *delicious*, beautiful one —)

(— must *spend* —)

(— *give* it to us!)

(— hide, never *hide*, never *again* —) 

(— *everything*, every sodding *drop* —) 

(— *paint* us with it —) 

(— *mark* —) 

(— have you *forever* —) 

Yes — oh — 

And the other Aramis scrapes his teeth all the way up — 

All the way *off* — 

Strokes him rough and sweet and so *brutally*, so — 

So *perfectly* — 

Porthos breaks the kiss and stares into his eyes so hungrily — 

So — 

"Every moment. Every *second* of this —" 

"And he is *sharing* it with all of us," Athos says, and crooks *hard* — 

And Aramis can't think, can't breathe, can't — he sobs and spurts, spurts hard, spurts *achingly* hard, and he's still sobbing, weeping —

He can't see — 

He's spurting and spasming and the others, his *pack*, are petting him and stroking him and urging him, soothing him, *praising* him — 

He is good, he is *good*, delicious, beautiful, loved — 

He is welcome, loved — 

*Loved* — 

He's never been — 

Making love has never *been* — 

But. 

But...

He doesn't this he has ever made love. Not like this. Not truly. Not with *all* of himself. 

Even Isabelle had not desired the part of him which lived — always and always — in the perfumed parlor of Madame Margaud's. 

And this... 

This is another lesson he can learn, even as this pack, his loves, his beloveds, curl around him and pet and stroke and rumble and love and *lick*: 

He must not try to give himself to people who do not wish to take.

Not anymore. 

Not ever anymore. 

Only this. 

Only *this*... and the wild and new and thrilling new world full of new possibilities — so many ills and pains and *mistakes* he will be able to *fix*!

They will not have to suffer the way they suffered on *his* world. 

They will not — 

And Porthos *nips* his ear — 

"Ai —" 

Porthos grins down at him ruefully. "Cuddle first. *Then* you can go save that other world." 

"I..." Aramis blushes helplessly. "As you say."

The other Aramis kneels up and catches his eye, even as Athos winds around him from the back — 

Jason and Treville are kissing soundly, sharing the spend in their mouths — 

Porthos is rumbling into Aramis's throat — 

But the other Aramis... is looking into him, wry and amused. 

And Aramis knows this message, silent as it is: They will always be... a little restless. They will always be *impatient*. They will always be reckless, and quick, and wild, and entirely too *protean* for their own *good*. 

This, too, is why they must have packs to surround themselves with.

Aramis will get started on that just as soon as he is able. 

real end.


End file.
